THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE 

KPT>I^C 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


NEW    HAVEN 

YALE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS 

LONDON:  HUMPHREY  MILFORD 

OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

MDCCCCXVIII 


Copyright.  1918 
By  Yale  University  Press 


First  published,  March,  1918 


The  author  wishes  to  extend  his  thanks 
to  the  following  for  allowing  him  to  reprint 
here  such  of  these  poems  as  have  already 
appeared  in  their  pages:  Reedy' s  Mirror, 
The  Century  Magazine,  and  The  Sundial 
(New   York  Evening  Sun). 


TO 

LAURA  AND  STEPHEN 

To  win  to  our  old  cottage  through  my  mind. 

First  there's  a  clearing,  then  a  forest-patch 

All  dark  low  boughs  that  writhe  and  claw  to  snatch 

My  cloak  away ;  and  then  it  is  I  find 

The  gliding  path  that  threads  the  thickets  blind 

Till,  veiled  in  drizzle,  juts  a  dripping  thatch; 

A  mossed  green  door  shines  through  its  silver  latch. 

This  I  lift  swiftly,  knowing  you  behind. 

Yes,  there  you  are, — one  all  a  silken  shimmer 

Of  rainbow  fancies  in  her  elfin  gown, — 

One  arm-chair  sprawled,  mumbling  of  sword  and  jewel, 

With  glasses  gleaming !    The  rich  old  room's  a  glimmer 

With  dancing  firelight,  crimson  on  the  brown. 

It's  black  night  out.    Hello!    I've  brought  some  fuel  .  .  / 

You  leap  up  laughing,  both  of  you.    Well  now. 

Look   out!      I'm   drenched!  .   .  These   are   but    faggots 

here. 
Soggy  at  that — yet  they  may  serve  to  cheer, 
Once  dried.     I've  come  to  see  you,  anyhow. 
Where  have  I  been?     Oh,  lashed  behind  the  plough 
In  the  world's  pasture.     So  I  reappear 
To  you,  old  boy, — to  you,  my  very  dear ! 
I  missed  your  hearty  grin,  your  musing  brow. 

[  vii  ] 


TO  LAURA  AND  STEPHEN 
Let's  draw  up  chairs,  serve  supper,  talk  between 
Of  fairies  and  chimaeras,  ogres,  elves. 
Life's  whirligig,  the  tourneys  you  yourselves 
Have  splintered  lance  in.  .  . 

Ah,  the  enchanted  scene, 
The  healing  of  the  old  speech  and  laughter,  blending 
To  tunes,  to  dreams,  to  love  of  you  unending ! 


[  vui  ] 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


The  Singing  Skyscrapers 

• 

1 

The  Quick-lunch  Counter 

. 

6 

Films 

. 

11 

First  Film:  Down  Along  the  Mountain 

12 

Second  Film:  Devil's  Blood 

. 

23 

Third  Film:  The  Bohemian  Barber-shop 

32 

Smoke             .... 

38 

Green  Turtles 

40 

The  Suffrage  Procession 

46 

On  Sunday 

49 

Night-motoring 

54 

The  Asylum 

57 

The  Blackamoor's  Pantomime 

59 

Mad  Blake 

86 

Jaldabaoth 

87 

How  to  Catch  Unicorns 

98 

The  Horse  Thief 

100 

The  Burglar  of  the  Zodiac 

106 

Alexander,  the  Crap  King 

118 

The  Seventh  Pawn,  1809 

121 

[  ix] 


THE  SINGING  SKYSCRAPERS 

This  was  after  midnight. 

Thus  it  befell. 

The  city  that  is  Heaven, 

The  city  that  is  Hell, 

Blinded  by  its  dazzle 

Woke  me  aware 

Of  its  tall  titanic  towers 

Singing  in  the  air. 

From  Madison  Square 
Hidden  in  the  mist 
Save  for  its  pharos 
A  blaze  of  amethyst 
Swimming  in  the  mist, 
The  Metropolitan, 
Singularly  ringing 
Through  steel  and  stone. 
Softly  began 
In  monotone 
The  singing: 

"To  Enoch  in  the  Land  of  Nod  I  cry, 
Aeons  away. 
Forgotten  by  our  day, 
But  rebuilded  in  the  night. 
Every  stone, 

[  1  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Spectrally  on  high 
Where  cloud  drives  by 
And  the  moon  illumes  the  grey 
Ghosts  of  cities  in  the  sky 
Thickly  sown; 

Majestic  phantom  cities  that  move  above  our  slumber 
Hung  aloft  in  air — 
Cities  beyond  number. 
Towers  beyond  number !" 

And  over  the  Avenue 
And  Broadway,  lying  still. 
The  Flatiron  Building  answered 
With  every  floor  athrill : 

"Thebes,  I  invoke  thee, — 
Tadmor  in  the  Wilderness 
Conceived  of  Solomon, — 
Memphis,  Alexandria, 
Cyprian  Paphos 
Sacred  to  Astarte, — 
Overthrown,  tragical. 
Blank  blue  ruins  magical 
Under  the  moon! 
With  sistrum  and  cymbal 
Cozen  me  a  tune 
From  this  night  air  nimble !" 

And  from  far  to  the  South 

I  heard  the  Woolworth  Tower 

Reply  from  the  sky: 

[  2  1 


THE  SINGING  SKYSCRAPERS 

"Aye,  cities  of  power, 

Each  a  granite  flower 

Stamened  to  unfold 

With  towers  of  ivory, 

Towers  of  gold. 

Towers  of  brass 

And  towers  of  iron. 

Towers  all  as  many  as  the  hours  that  environ 

The  years  of  our  servitude. 

Our  steel  and  iron  yoke. 

In  the  deep  blue  skies 

They  stand  like  smoke ! 

Pavia  the  hundred-towered, 

Shining  over  Italy, 

The  Greek  Heliopolis, 

The  City  of  the  Sun, — 

Phoenician  Sidon, 

Persian  Persepolis, 

The  Vale  of  Siddim's  cities 

By  sins  undone ! 

There  the  strong  rampires 

Of  Troy  flare  fires. 

There  like  spears  stand  spires. 

Priceless  citadels 

Pulsate  with  their  paean 

Aeon  after  aeon:  ^ 

'We  are  the  eternal. 

Your  frames  but  shells! 

We  are  your  sires. 

The  frozen  fierce  desires 

[31 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Of  Man  made  immortal 
By  temple-miracles !'  " 

And  the  Singer  Building, 

As  I  seemed  to  know, 

Resounded  through  the  town 

From  its  station  far  below. 

It  sang  of  the  City  of  the  Violet  Crown. 

It  sang  Rome  risen  and  Rome  gone  down. 

It  sang  like  a  seraph 

Tremendous  in  the  dark; 

And  the  million-windowed  Plaza 

Up  by  Central  Park 

Echoed  from  afar, 

Intoning  to  a  star. 

Nineveh  they  sang, 

New  York  they  sang! 

In  surcoats  of  stone 

Like  huge  knights  at  vigil, 

Each  alone 

Sealed  with  the  sigil 

Of  the  glories  of  the  Throne 

That  wakes  this  Memnonian 

Music  eternal 

In  the  clay  and  the  compost. 

The  steel,  the  stone. 

So  above  our  shining  towers 
To  my  eyes  was  given 

[4  ] 


THE  SINGING  SKYSCRAPERS 
A  last  great  vision 
Of  a  wall  great  and  high ; 
Twelve  gates,  twelve  angels. 
And,  descending  out  of  heaven. 
The  Celestial  City 
Blinding  in  the  sky ! 
It  lay  foursquare 
To  what  winds  might  pass. 
Jasper  was  the  wall. 
And  like  clear  glass 
Pure  gold  was  that  city 
Blazing  in  the  air ; 
And  sapphire,  chalcedony, 
Emerald,  sardonyx. 
Chrysolite,  topaz. 
Jacinth  and  amethyst 
Garnished  its  foundations; 
And  the  wild  salvations 
Of  the  risen  nations 
Made  a  glory  there ! 

Night  flowed  away  from  it. 

The  River  and  the  Throne 

Blinded  my  eyes. 

My  heart  fell  prone. 

But  my  brain  was  ringing,  ringing 

With  vast  anthems  from  afar. 

And  the  Towers,  the  Towers  were  singing 

To  the  Bright  and  Morning  Star! 

[  5  ] 


THE  QUICK-LUNCH  COUNTER 

I  seize  a  little  cardboard  slip 
On  entering,  and  sight  a  chair 
To  hold — if  I  can  steer  it  there — 
On  one  flat  arm,  some  humorous  food. 
A  good  day  this  for  going  nude! 
The  seething  street — the  stifling  glare ! 
Thick-beaded  brow  and  cheek  and  lip 
Attest  it  well.     I  cross  the  floor, 
Slouchingly  stand  to  mix  once  more 
With  lunch-time's  hasty  fellowship. 
And  scan  the  sign-board  bill-of-fare. 

Clerks  crunch  a  roll  or  two. 

Pimpled  salesmen  spread 

Raw  mustard  on  their  bread. 

Small  tradesmen,  with  a  bowl  or  two 

Of  milk  and  crackers  floating. 

Scan  scare-heads  black  and  gloating. 

And  guttural  foreign  voices 

Dispute  'mid  other  noises 

A  dozen  fruitless  themes.  .  . 

Meanwhile  his  bow  Apollo  poises, 

Loosing  swift-gleaming  dreams: 

Pellucid  peacock-colored  ripples 
The  plangent  sunlight  strikes  along 

[  6  1 


THE  QUICK-LUNCH  COUNTER 
To  shallows  where  leaf-shadow  stipples 
The  idling,  sidling  silver  ripples 
With  dust  of  gold,  as  down  the  Tigris 
The  caliph's  boatmen  send  a  song. 
I  sip  cool  sherbets  winy-clear 
And  melting  on  the  tongue  like  snow 
In  gardens  of  the  grand  vizier 
Where  your  lute  tinkled,  long  ago! 

"Well,  gents,  what's  yours?"  .  . 

Swab,  swab  the  marble, — dip  the  soup. 

Sling  out  the  sandwich, — punch ! — it's  done. 

Some  delicate  dessert  allures?  .  . 

"Pie?  .  .  Cake?  .  .  Some  crullers,  son?"  .  . 

"One  Com-bo!"  (shouted)   .  .  To  a  group 

Of  seeming  gun-men,  "Salad?     Hey?" 

Then,  bawled,  "Two  French  fries  on  the  way !  .  . 

Naw!    Make  that  owe/" 

Clash,  clang.  .  .  "One  scrambled  .  .  make  it  two!" 

"Here  y'are,  sir !  .  .  Ye-es,  that's  Irish  stew !" 

Clink,  clash,  swab.  .   . 

Then  a  sharp  command. 
And,  starting  up,  I  take  in  hand 
My  share  of  thick  white  china,  holding 
Limp  bread  some  limper  ham  enfolding. 
Brown  doughnuts,  and  a  liquid  less  so. 
(They  call  it  "coffee."    Well,  I  guess  so!) 

Pellucid  peacock-colored  lights 

Your  eyes  have  borrowed  from  the  stream. 

[  7  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

The  jasmine  of  Arabian  nights 
Steals  round  you  from  the  dusk  hareem. 
Sharper  than  Haroun's  Samsamah, 
Sword  of  the  caliph.  Love  can  pierce; 
No  leopard's  black  and  gold  more  fierce. 
No  steed  of  all  Arabia 
More  swift! — and,  as  the  ezzan  floats 
Summoning  the  faithful  through  the  throats 
Of  your  strange  criers  from  the  skies. 
So  have  the  glances  of  your  eyes 
Summoned  my  soul,  Zobiede!  .  . 
There  is  no  more  to  sing  or  say! 

What  all  the  wealth  of  camel-trains 
Tinkling  across  the  tawny  plains. 
The  spoils  of  every  Eastern  vine 
Or  dainties  snared  from  either  blue. 
The  sky  or  sea, — whenas  your  lute 
Falls  again  faint-toned, — and  I  pray, — 
'Mid  pyramids  of  golden  fruit. 
Pomegranates  scarlet  gleaming  through,      j 
With  scented  wine  like  bitter  brine 
On  my  parched  lips  unhealed  of  yours, — 
Can  only  pray  my  strength  endures 
To  slay  my  love,  Zobiede! 

.  .  By  Heaven,  that  headline  looks  like  war ! 
To  send  him  to  the  chair  at  dawn.  .  . 
Shoots  two  .  .  strange  suicide  .  .  Before 
Fate's  fingers  reach  for  me,  her  pawn, 

[  8  ] 


THE  QUICK-LUNCH  COUNTER 
And  I  pass  through  the  same  dark  door 
Whither  all  breathing  men  are  drawn, — 
Well,  let  me  sip  my  lethe'd  dream, 
Hoping  things  are  not  what  they  seem! 

Ices  of  cool  translucent  green, 
Syrops  of  amber,  pungent  spice. 
Rosy-fleshed  melons  filled  with  ice. 
Bowls  of  rich  Shiraz,  howls  between 
Of  Kismische, — and  yet  the  least 
Dog  of  a  Giaour  doth  rarer  feast. 
Since  Hwixt  us  twain  with  each  new  day. 
Shines  Honor's  sword,  and  points  the  way! 

The  sefy  takes  the  antelope — 

But  not  the  hooded  bird  or  blind! 

Fetters  of  fealty  bind  my  hope. 

The  Caliph  murders,  to  be  kind! 

So  sigheth  Giafar,  the  good  vizier, 

A  princedom  may  not  satisfy 

Since  Haroun's  daughter,  bending  near, 

Eclipsed  all  glories  from  his  sky 

He  takes  the  long  road  that  he  must. 

He  serves  one  only,  dubbed  "The  Just." 

Alas,  he  can  no  other  way 

Than  crush  his  brittle  heart  of  clay 

In  his  hot  breast!     Zohiede, 

There  is  no  more  to  sing  or  say! 

[  9  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Brush  off  the  crumbs  .  .  and  now  what  comes? 
A  glass  of  water?    Clean?    Well,  I  suppose  so. 
Who  knows  so? 

Cool,  anyway!  .  .  "Hey  there,  your  check!" 
A  j  ar  of  toothpicks  pushed  my  way, 
A  pink  and  puffy  female  hand 
Scraping  the  nickels  I  produce 
Across  her  counter  (while  her  neck 
Glistens  with — "perspiration"  say). 
Behind  me  the  screen-door  flacks  loose. 

The  high  gods  hover  when  they  choose. 
I  made  an  excellent  lunch  today! 


[  10] 


FILMS 

"Ding-dang-dang !"  the  electric  piano,  the  electric  piano 

jangled  through  the  dimness. 
Down  hissed  a  ray  from  the  wizard's  eye,  imprisoned  in 

his  little  black  box  on  high, 
And  a  magic  circle  on  the  taut  white  sheet  wavered  to 

focus  all  the  gayness,  grimness, 
And  mystery  of  life's  long  winding  street,  for  its  slaves 

'twixt  death  and  birth  on  earth.  .  . 
"Ding-dang-dang!"  rang  the  tinny  piano,  rippling  with 

the  echoes  of  a  world's  wild  mirth. 

Let  us  stumble  down  in  the  odorous  dark 

And  squeeze  into  seats  along  the  aisle. 

Your  mind  is  "enlightened."    With  scorn  you  mark 

The  frown  and  smile  of  the  rank  and  file. 

Their  musty  moralities  leave  you  cold. 

These  obvious  "heart-throbs"  are  so  old ! 

What  is  there  here  that  is  worth  one's  while  .^  .  . 

"Is  it  their  humor,  is  it  their  tears. 

Their  maudlin  mess  of  hopes  and  fears. 

Blind  to  all  proud  insurgent  art 

And  the  subtle  nobilities  of  the  heart  ?"  .  . 

Yes !    Here  is  the  pith  of  all  budded  theme, 

Man's  glamorous  fundamental  dream ! 

Sit  through  a  couple  of  films  and  feel 

Your  lugubrious  soul  in  every  reel ! 

[  11  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
"Ding-dang-dang!"  the  electric  piano,  the  electric  piano 

tinkle-tankles  faster 
A  popular  tune  banal  and  bright  .  .  and  from  over  our 

heads  a  stream  of  light 
Wakes  a  magic  trade-mark  swift  and  clear,  to  usher  in 

a  story  of  delight  or  disaster 
By  a  crowing  rooster,  or  a  spinning  sphere.  .  .  Then  a 

picture  flickers  on  our  eyes'  surprise, 
"Strum-a-strum-strum!"     The   piano   ceases.      And   we 

rush  into  a  region  where  the  fool  turns  wise ! 

First  Film:  Down  Along  the  Mountain 

Waving  his  blue  serape,  the  wild  vaquero  wind 
Whooped  o'er  the  purple  mountain,  the  herds  of  Spring 

behind. 
His  silver-mounted  saddle,  his  chinking  bridle- chains. 
Glittered  between  the  live-oaks  as  he  flashed  to  find  the 

plains. 

Down  along  the  mountain 

A  cowboy 

Came  riding, 

Down  along  the  mountain, 

Down  along  the  mountain, 

O'er  the  deep-cut  canyons. 

Through  the  high  hill-meadows; 

But  his  heart  was  swept  of  shadows 

And  it  gushed  a  golden  fountain. 

As  his  hard-braced  little  horse's  legs 

[  13  ] 


FILMS 
Went  jolting, 
Went  sliding — 

With  hitches,  twists  and  slithers, 
Humped-up  rump  and  sunken  withers — 
While  the  pebbles  spun  along; 
And  the  loosed  water-courses 
In  his  soul  foamed  to  his  riding. 
Red-roaring,  fervid  forces 
Thundered  "Spring!"  through  every  vein; 
And  the  clouds  above  the  mountain  in  the  blue  of  love 

abiding 
Caught  the  glory  of  his  song 
With  its  braggart  refrain: 

"Hang 
your 
spurs 

On  the  back-door  of  the  rainbow! 
Bow 
to 

Gawd 

In  the  great  big  sky  corral ! 

Hitch  your  britches,  and  amble  to  the  ranch-house! 
Sail  in,  Davy — sail  in,  Davy — 
Sail  in,  Davy! 
You're  bound  to  get  that  gal !" 

Silken  and  orange  poppies,  lupin  in  blinding  blue. 
Painted  the  billowed  foothills,  and  pure  as  a  globe  of 
dew 

[  13] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
The  meadow-lark's  lyric  bubble  purled  out  of  silver  oats. 
And  song  from  the  orange  orchards  trilled  from  throb- 
bing vireo  throats. 

Dreaming  in  the  meadow 

Goldilocks  lay  sleeping. 

Shaggy  "Shep/'  beside  her. 

His  nose  on  his  paws, 

Watched  the  distant  valley 

With  its  sprawly  ranch-roofs  peeping, 

Lolled  his  tongue  at  blackbirds — 

Skimming  red-winged  blackbirds — 

Curled  his  lip  at  blackbirds 

And  a  crow's  far  caws. 

He  saw  the  blue  serape  of  the  wild  vaquero  wind 
Stream  o'er  the  purple  mountain,  the  herds  of  Spring 

behind. 
Silver-mounted  saddle  and  chinking  bridle-chains 
Glittered  between  the  live-oaks  as  he  flashed  to  find  the 

plains. 

"Shep"  rose  trembling, 

But  dissembling 

All  his  awe — 

And  raised  a  paw. 

Took  a  step, 

(Romantic  "Shep!") 

And  then,  beyond  the  oaks,  he  saw. 

As  from  hiding 

[  14  ] 


FILMS 

A  cowboy 
Come  riding 

Down  along  the  mountain, 
Down  along  the  mountain. 
Singing  strong  at  a  song — 
For  his  heart  in  the  Spring 
Gushed  a  golden  fountain, 
And  he  simply  had  to  sing ! 

"I'm  the  fellah  you  was  waiting  for, 

M-y-y-y  dear ! 
I'm  the  fellah  you  was  waiting  for. 
And  I'm  here  on  my  hawse  before  your  door. 
So  what  will  you  do  with  a  fellah  like  that  ? 
Take  down  your  shawl,  pin  on  your  hat, 

M-y-y-y  dear — 
And  come  on,  come  on — we're  goin' 

On  a  ride 

To  the  moon!" 

Goldilocks,  the  rancher's  daughter. 
Had  a  laugh  like  a  fairy. 
Had  a  smile  the  angels  taught  her, 
(Though  her  real  true  name  was  Mary.) 
And  I  think  they  must  have  brought  her 

In  a  pearl  and  ivory  car 
When  she  came  to  Bar-X-Bar. 

******** 

Look  out,  look  out  for  squirrel-holes. 
When  sunshine  makes  you  drowse ! 

[  15  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

Spring  will  daze  a  cayuse,  and  a  dog's  bark  make  him 
jump. 

Don't  fool  along  through  live-oak  groves 

Where  Spring  is  keeping  house ! 

You'll  slip  sidewise  and  you'll  stumble,  and  go  grass- 
ward  with  a  bump — 

And  the  surest-footed  cayuse  prove  a  triple-plated 
chump. 

That  was  how  it  happened — thump! 

Goldilocks 
Sprang  from  sleep. 
And  a  cowboy,  in  a  heap, 
Scrambled  up,  and  then  uncovered, 
(When  he  saw  his  pony  stood 
Quivering,  snorting,  but  all  sound). 
And  bowed  low  to  the  ground 
In  a  gay  Lothario  mood. 

Spring  in  their  veins 
Thrilled  and  tingled. 
Spring  in  their  brains 
Throbbed  and  mingled. 
Her  cloud  of  gold  hair. 
Like  an  aureole. 
Breezes  tossed — to  snare 
His  heart  and  soul. 
Breezes  swept  its  strands 
To  a  maze  of  light 
Till  he  clenched  his  hands 

[  16  1 


FILMS 
And  stared  at  the  sight. 
And  his  heart  sang  loud  for  delight: 

"You  came  out  of  the  sunset  to  me 
Long  ago,  long  ago — 
Riding  a  cayuse  the  color  of  night 
And  whirling  a  lariat  of  diamond  light! 
The  hoods  of  your  stirrups  were  gold 
And  the  horn  of  your  saddle  was  pearl, 
Little  girl! 
And  you  told 
What  you  know 

Of  the  range  that  lies  way  past  the  planets. 
Just  starlight  to  mortals  below ! 

"Come  up  on  my  pony  with  me 
And  we'll  ride 
For  that  range. 
Raising  a  dust  on  the  white  milky  way. 
Bucking  through  space  like  a  bronco  at  play! 
We'll  weave  up  to  heaven  with  a  whoop  and  set  the 
gold  streets  in  a  whirl. 
Little  girl ! 
I  will  loop, 
For  a  change. 

All  the  stars  with  the  slack  of  my  rope. 
And  bust  every  wild  steer  on  that  range  !'* 

"Shep"  growled  once,  then  wagged  beside  him. 
Mary  stood  aloof  and  eyed  him, 

[  17  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

In  her  figured  calico 
Looking  like  a  princess  lost. 
And  the  ranch-house  far  below 
Spired  a  thin  blue  smoke  toward  cloudland  .  . 
Then  the  cowboy  laughed,  and  tossed 
His  Stetson  high  in  air, 
And  he  said,  "Miss,  I  swear, 
As  you  stand  there. 

You  just  strike  me  like  a  cyclone,  till  I  want  to  buck 
and  r'ar !" 

"How  did  you,"  said  Mary, 

"Come  so  far? 

The  cows  out  here  are  tame. 

Me  and  Par 

Herds  our  few; 

But  sheep — 

There's  a  heap. 

Down  there's  the  siding,  by  the  marshes. 

You  can  see  a  cattle-car." 

"Where  did  I  come  from?'* 

Said  he. 

"Round  by  Arizone — 

That's  me ! 

Loped  it  on  my  lone — 

And  Mexico. 

I've  wrastled  from  Cheyenne  to  San  Antone — 

That's  so !" 

[  18  1 


FILMS 
"Seems  we're  shif'less  here/' 
Said  she. 
"An'— oh  dear! 
Par  is  gettin'  queer. 
Mar  is  dead.    An'  as  fer  me, 
I'm — oh  well, 
This  life  is  Hell— 

Baked-bread  hills,  and  sky,  and  sky  .  .    ! 
Sometimes  I  think  that  I  might  just  as  well 
Die!" 

"What?     Your 

Said  he. 

"You  that  raked  your  spurs 

Into  me 

First  time  I  laid  eyes  on 

That  hair  o'  yern?" 

Down  toward  the  west's  hill-filled  horizon 
The  sloping  sun  began  to  redly  burn. 

Mary  flushed — could  not  speak — 

But  a  sparkle  on  her  cheek 

Tattled  of  a  tear. 

"Miss,"  he  said,  "my  dear, 

I'll  be  gone  from  here 

Just  like  that — or,  if  you  say  so, 

I'll  stand  pat  and  wait  a  year. 

If  your  Pap  is  queer, 

[  19  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
You  won't  make  no  sudden  hike — 
Not  the  girl  that  you  look  like. 
There's  a  feller  in  the  Bible^ 
A  sky-pilot  told  me  of 
Oncet,  that  worked  fer  fourteen  years 
Fer  his  girl.    They  tried  to  fool  him 
In  between  times — but  he  stuck. 
/  would  chuck — 
Well,  ye  know  it  kinder  skeers 
When  I  think  what  I  would  do 
Just  to  sit  acrost  from  you 
At  the  table,  and  corral 
Hopes  and  fears — and  damn  the  luck ! — 
With  you  fer  everlasting  pal." 

"Hush!"  said  she. 
"Are  you — are  you — 

Oh!"   she  whispered.     "Do  you  mean  you're  fonda 
me.'^ 

Waving  a  red  serape,  the  wild  vaquero  wind 

Fled    through    the    fiery    sunset,    with    phantom    herds 

behind. 
Bellowing  loud  and  lowing  with  Spring's  wild  loco-weed 
The   galloping   herds   of   the   sunset   passed  in   a  mad 

stampede! 

Click-flash!  .   .  and  then  PART  TWO, 
Fantastical  with  "derring-do"; 

[  20  ] 


FILMS 
Moonlight  elopement  and  swift  pursuing, 
Lickety-split  over  mountains  blue; 
The  obstacle-race  of  every  wooing 
That  always  follows  the  ring-dove-cooing, 
Precedes  the  "tender  and  true/' 
And  spices  the  plot  to  a  peppery-hot 
And  highly  romantic  brew ! 

The  dust  puffs  white,  and  the  bullets  bite. 
And  the  horses  fly  along  the  sky. 
Splash  through  the  creek  at  hide-and-seek, — 
And  the  lovers  cling  and  the  shot-guns  speak ! 

Aye,  Movie  Man !    And  the  poet  can 
Delegate  that  to  you!  .  . 
I  only  pretend  to  know  THE  END. 
Possibly  this  will  do! 

******* 

Down  in  the  valley. 

In  a  ranch-house  window, 

A  yellow  lamp, 

A  little  steady  star  mocks  the  sky. 

And  down  along  the  mountain, 

Down  along  the  mountain 

Stream  the  sheep  bleating 

From  their  pastures  high; 

Shambles  a  cayuse. 

And  a  cowboy  singing 

[  21  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Lifts  in  his  stirrups 
To  see  that  window  shine. 
Down  along  the  mountain 
His  voice  comes  ringing 
To  where  his  wife  stands  clinging 
To  the  morning-glory  vine 
On  the  porch  of  that  ranch-house  white-glimmering 

afar^ 
On  the  porch  of  the  ranch-house  of  the  Bar-X-Bar. 

"You're  waiting,  Mary — 
Oh,  I  know  you're  waiting,  Mary — 
Like  I  always  knew  that  it  would  be. 
Spring's  comin',  Mary, 
Summer's  comin',  Mary, 
Winter's  comin',  Mary? 
What's  that  to  you  an'  me! 
For  Spring's  come  truly 
Forever  an'  forever — 
Spring  and  the  evenin',  an'  the  moon. 
Sing  the  younguns  off  to  sleep, 
Fer  I  am  comin',  Mary — 
I  am  comin',  Mary,  with  a  cowboy  tune — 
Supper's  on  the  table,  an'  I'm  comin'  soon!" 

******** 

''Ding-dang-dang!"     the     electric    piano,     the     electric 

piano  romps  across  the  fading 
Of  the  last  lettered  legend  and  the  last  dumb  show. 
Old  eyes  soften  and  young  cheeks  glow, 

[  22  ] 


FILMS 
For  they  breathe  the  air  of  a  mountain  height,  with  a 

gorgeous  sunset  o'er  the  peaks  parading. 
In  this  stuffy  cave,  with  its  ghastly  light. 
The  winds  of  the  open  sweep  the  cheap 
"  Ding -dang- dang !"  of  the   tinny  piano  to  a  tiny   echo 

from  a  far  dust-heap! 

Now  "Thrum-thram-thram!" — the  piano  ceases. 
From  a  fresh  reel  humming,  there  is  magic  coming — 
All  the  sheaves  of  story,  all  the  wizard  meadows,  all 
the  fields  of  romance  for  the  poor  to  reap! 


Second  Film:  Devil's  Blood 

D'Artois  does  not  love  the  King ! 

See  him  frown, 

Home  from  war's  adventuring, 

In  his  castle  o'er  the  town, — 

In  the  gorgeous  gloom 

Of  his  turret  room ! 

Now  he  smites  his  hands 

Together — and  his  teeth 

Glitter  in  an  awful  smile.  .  .  What  thought,  beneath 

Those  jetty  love-locks,  whispers  "Death" 

Through  his  harshly-taken  breath? 

Ah-h!     He  understands ! 

[  23  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
He  understands  why  Clare 
Is  cold  and  pale 

With  strange  flushes.  .  .  Swift  he  turns. 
There  she  stands.   .   .   No  words  avail 
To  move  her  doubting  gaze.     All  day 
She  stares, — she  has  gone  mad,  they  say, 
Since  he  rode  away. 

Nay! 

He  knows  the  serpent  in  his  Eden — Love! 

She  loves  the  King. 

He  sees  them  walk  the  garden.     The  King  talks. 

Birds  are  a  wing. 

Brilliantly  sing. 

Aye,  everything 

Is  gay  with  flowers  and  song.     The  flowers  from  their 

stalks 
Salute  her  beauty.     And,  above, 
The  summer  sky  is  shimmering  love. 
Her  summer  eyes  are  brimming  love. 
She  loves  the  King! 

D'Artois  does  not  love  the  King. 

See  him  pace 

The  moonlit  rampart,  with  a  cloak 

To  hide  his  face ! 

The  silver  moon  rides  with  white  prow,  the  swift  clouds 

race. 
From  his  wried  lips  the  muffled  curses  choke. 

******** 
[  24  ] 


FILMS 
Through  the  town's  twisted  street, 
Down  the  long  stair 

That  is  the  street,  a  graybeard  hobbles.     See ! 
He  is  an  ancient  steeped  in  alchemy. 
He  peers  now  here,  now  there  .  . 
He  grasps  his  bundle  close  and  hobbles  to  his  lair. 

Here  are  strange  fires. 

In  this  dim  cave-like  room  all  terrible  desires 

Lurk  in  those  glimmering  alembics,  rise 

In  fume  from  those  retorts, — to  mock  the  skies 

And  tempt  the  angels  out  of  Paradise. 

Over  a  glittering  brazier's  crimson  coals 

The  Alchemist  holds  thin  hands. 

His  parchment  skull  white-fringed 

Gleams  in  the  ruby-tinged. 

Green-misted  light.  .   . 

His  dark  soul  understands 

The  hell  of  darkened  souls. 

His  daughter  was  the  King's 

Captive,  long  since, — and  died.     He  dreams  of  dreadful 

things. 
Who  knocks  so  late  tonight.^ 

In  the  black  door 

Stands  d'Artois,  dripping  with  the  rain. 

Once  more 

The  Alchemist's  eyes  lift  from  their  dream  of  pain. 

The  picture  that  he  sees 

[25  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

Dislimns.  .  .  He  bows. 

"I  seek  for  my  disease 
A  cure — a  stealthy  cure  and  swift !     You  know 
Swift  powders,  cunning  poisons?     Even  so! 
Not  for  myself — ah,  no! 
For  one — 

But  even  here  I  fear  I  were  undone 
To  breathe  the  name !" 

The  old  man's  eyes  strike  flame, 

The  picture  shimmers  of  his  daughter's  shame. 

Their  faces  draw  together  tense  and  white 

In  the  green  ghastly  light. 

Slow  tigrish  smiles  play  on  their  whispering  lips. 

Crime's  black  eclipse 

Weds  them  in  darkness.     With  thin,  clawlike  hands 

The  Alchemist  gestures.     Yes,  he  understands ! 

He  holds  a  little  vial 

Of  squirming  flame.  "Here,  good  Milord, — one  trial — 
Enough!"  He  spurns  hack  d'Artois'  gold.  "That  flask 
Put  to  its  brooded  use — is  all  I  ask !" 


Under  the  great  gold  canopy. 
Stiff  rustling,  of  his  high  and  regal  bed. 
In  his  great  palace  high  above  the  town 
The  King  sleeps  peacefully. 
D'Artois'  swift,  catlike  tread 

[  26  ] 


FILMS 
Presages  naught  to  him. 
The  cresset  light  is  dim. 
D'Artois  paces  the  antechamber  floor, 
Listens  without  the  arrassed  door, 
Seeming  unlistening, — jests  his  mates  at  cards. 
Would   they   have   wine.^      Seek   it!      "See!      D'Artois 

guards 
This  door  till  your  return !" 

They  go.     He  stands 
With  almost  the  achievement  in  his  hands. 

He  listens.       He  goes  in. 
Stealthy  as  sin 

He  creeps  toward  the  curtained  bed.    One  hand 
Fingers  his  poniard,  lest  the  deed  long-planned 
Somehow  go  wrong.     The  little  vial  shakes 
In  his  left  hand.     And  there  are  foamy  flakes 
Upon  his  lips.  .  .  He  leans.     The  time  appears 
To  pour  the  poison  deftly  in  the  ears. 
But  the  King  hears  ! 

The  curtains  move.     The  King's  smile  freezes.     Eyes 
Meet  eyes,  with  ghastliness  and  swift  surmise. 
Then  suddenly  strong  fingers  snap  the  vial 
From  d'Artois'  hand.    A  voice  to  rouse  espial 
Is  all  but  raised. 

The  desperate  thrust  is  made 
Thrice  with  the  poniard. 

Terribly  afraid, 
D'Artois  glides  backward  to  the  arrased  door. 

[27] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
The  King  falls  forward.     Blood  taps  on  the  floor. 
A  pool  forms,  darkling,  spreading  more  and  more. 

D'Artois  slips  through  the  door.     His  mates  are  back. 
"Does  the  King  sleep.'*"  .  .  "Aye,  just  the  old  attack 
Of  coughing — but — I  soothed  him.     It — is  late. 
I  must  inspect  the  guardroom  at  the  gate !" 

The  cards  are  tossed  by  candlelight.     And  then, 
"Look!     How  that  shadow  grows  beneath  the  door!" 
"Some    cresset's    spilt."  .   .  "What's    this?  .  .  Christ! 

Blood! — and  more !" 
"Torches!"       "Tear    back    that    arras!"      "Call    your 

men! 

A  dark  thin  stream  worms  through  the  anteroom 

And  slides  'neath  curtains  out  into  the  gloom 

Of  the  great  stair  of  state.     The  white  stair  gleams 

Like  polished  silver  in  the  pale  moonbeams 

Through  the  great  stained-glass  window  diamond-paned. 

And  then  that  thin  black  trickle  has  attained 

The  stair-head,  and  flows  down  the  marble  flight. 

Sinuous,  swift,  and  on  to  left  and  right. 

And  underneath  the  palace  doors,  and  out  into  the  night. 


D'Artois,  in  the  King's  deep  garden  o'er  the  Town, 
Plunges  through  shrubbery,  and  flings  him  down 
On  a  marble  bench  in  moonlight.     Horrid  fear 
Raves  like  a  fury  at  his  deafened  ear. 

[  28  ] 


FILMS 
Only  it  seems — as  if — his  heart  could  h'ear 
A  strange  thin  dripping  sound,  and  a  thin  sound 
Of  sluggard  tricklings  threading  the  dark  ground. 
He  starts  up  in  the  moonlight.    Down  the  path — 
Is  it  but  shadow? — steals  a  thread  of  wrath, 
A  red  bright  thread.     It  reaches  him.     He  reels. 
Wet!     Warm!    Wily  athwart  his  steps  it  steals 
And  stains  his  white  court  footgear,  toes  to  heels. 
He  tears  the  vile  shoes  from  him.     Far  he  throws 
Them  to  the  bushes, — runs  in  silken  hose, 
Falls  in  the  laurels — up  and  on — who  knows 
Where  .f*     In  a  flash  he  scales  an  unguarded  wall 
Of  the  great  garden,  heavily  to  fall 
On  the  other  side,  above  the  sleeping  town. 
He  seeks  and  finds  a  roadway.     And  falls  down 
Again  in  moonlight. 

Thin  and  darkly  red, 
Down  the  white  road  trickles  a  tortuous  thread, 
Winding  between  small  pebbles,  curling  round 
Obstructions,  sliding,  slipping  o'er  the  ground. 
It  meets, — and,  twining,  glides  o'er  d'Artois'  hand,- 
Creeps  up  his  arm,  staining  lace  cuff  and  band 
And  satin  sleeve  and  shoulder  and  prone  cheek. 

He  twitches,  shudders, — rises  with  a  shriek! 

He  tears  the  fabric  from  his  shoulders,  tears 

The  doublet  off,  pitches  the  coat  he  wears 

Far  through  a  hedge,  rubs  his  encrimsoned  hand 

[  ^  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
With  poulticed  leaves — staggers — can  hardly  stand, 
And  lurches  down  the  road. 

And  quietly 
The  small  red  stream  that  scarcely  eye  can  see 
Follows  him  down  the  path,  still  trickling  sinuously. 

Later.     Still  moonlight.     Down  the  stairs  and  down 
Of  the  steep  street  that  leads  into  the  town 
Leaps  d'Artois  crouching,  seeking  every  shade 
That  offers,  shuddering  lest  some  ambuscade 
Of  prying  eyes  descry  him;  then  once  more 
Enters  his  own  dark  garden  by  a  secret  door.  .  . 
But  trickling,  trickling  down  the  street's  steep  stairs 
The  small  thin  stream  of  vengeance  onward  fares.  .  . 

And  townsfolk  early  climbing 

Unto  the  distant  chiming 

Of  the  hill-chapel's  call  to  morning  prayers 

See  it,  and  point,  and  crowd  with  owlish  glares. 

Marking  its  wet  thread  like  a  crimson  clue 

Leading  to  d'Artois'  garden,  and  therethrough. 

Amid  the  flowers,  his  awed  retainers  see 

The  red  thread  fatefully 

Traverse  white  paths  until  it  halts  and  is  no  more 

In  a  bright  stain  upon  the  steps  of  d'Artois'  turret-door. 


Greyly  in  his  grey  tower  he  sits  and  shakes 
As  if  the  floor  beneath  him  writhed  with  snakes. 

[  30  ] 


FILMS 
His  eyes  rise  to  the  mirror.     She  is  there, 
Wavering  in  the  door.     He  whispers,  "Clare!", — 
Whirls  up  with  hands  thrust  backward  as  he  leans 
Against  the  table.     "You.?"  .  .  "Dear  Love!"  .  .  "This 

means  .  .    ?" 
"That  now  I  know  you  love  me !    Brokenly 
I  say  you  sooth ;  he  snared  and  sorceried  me. 
His  power  was  from  the  fiend — and  devil's  blood 
Marks  down  his  slayer!" 

"Mayhap  mine  own  serpent  mood 
Has  marked  me  down.    And  yet  I  learned  what  tryst 
He  made  with  her  whom  my  dark  alchemist 
Called  daughter.     Had  I  sought  but  cleaner  hate  .  .    !" 

"No !    A  dog  rots.    But  love  returns  too  late 
Save  for  sweet  parting!    Ah,  I  love  you  well!'' 

"Wrapped  in  such  flame  then,  what  are  flames  of  Hell? 
Why,    look!      They    shrivel    and    shrink,    Love,    Love! 

And  we 
Blaze  through  this  hour  into  Eternity !" 


And  now  the  piano 

Changes  to  gay 

Romping,  rollicking  tune. 

For  aqua  tofano 

And  poniard-play 

And  blood  beneath  the  moon. 

And  alchemists  and  the  villain's  curse, 

[  31  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

Are  faint  as  the  gasping  sigh  that  stirs 

Through  the  gloom  of  this  room  that  has  looked  on 

doom. 
Hail  to  the  rare  buffoon! 

"Tinklety-tink!"  the  gay  notes  race. 
"Here  is  a  queer  familiar  place 
That  makes  a  miracle  of  your  face, 
A  magic  all  have  seen. 
Si2Z — but  wouldn't  you  like  to  stop — 
Click ety-clich — at  this  barber-shop. 
This  rare  Bohemian  Barber-shop.^ 
Sizz — well,  watch  the  screen! 


Third  Film:  The  Bohemian  Barber-shop 

Dapper  and  deft,  six  little  barbers 

Snick-snick  together  in  a  neat  white  row. 

Glittering  with  glass  the  bright  shop  harbors 

Six  sprawled  customers,  languishing  below 

The  hands  that  grip  and  the  clippers  that  clip. 

And  the  towels  that  slap  and  the  razor's  scrape, — 

All  the  tools  that  shape,  from  nose  to  nape, 

A  man  from  a  bruin,  make  a  mummy  glow. 

And  fashion  the  features,  and  the  hands,  and  the  heels, 

Into  shining  beacons.     So  the  film  unreels. 

Noontide  sunlight  fills  the  shop. 
At  the  door, 

[  33  ] 


FILMS 
Red  and  white,  the  striped  pole 
(Heraldry  that  shows  some  soul!) 
Casts  a  shadow  on  the  floor. 
Here  one  barber  seeks  his  strop. 
At  that  table,  hark  the  snore 

Of  the  fat  man,  where  the  comic  papers  flutter  by  the 
score ! 

"Flick!"  and  "Flack!",  the  crouched  boot-black 
Slaps  his  cloth,  and  plies  his  brush. 
"Snick-snick-snick!"  the  scissors  click. 
Then  there  falls  a  sudden  hush. 
See,  the  barbers  all  are  staring 
And  the  customers  are  craning. 
Who  is  this  who  enters,  wearing 
Topper,  tailcoat,  and  a  paining 
Wealth  of  beard  and  hair  ?     Disdaining 
All  the  bows  each  barber  tenders, 
Lo,  he  slips  his  coat,  and  stands. 
With  peculiar  long  white  hands. 

In    a    shirt    of    fearful    pattern    crossed    by    marvelous 
suspenders ! 

His  trousers-wrinkles 
Are  frightful  taste. 
His  dark  hair  sprinkles 
Down  to  his  waist. 
His  black  beard  reaches 
Near  to  his  knee. 

[  33  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
One  barber  beseeches 
Him  volubly — 
With  his  customer  finished — 
To  have  diminished 
That  tangled  cataract  capillary. 
The  stranger  nods,  but  his  eyes  are  wary. 
He  seats  himself, — and,  once  in  the  chair,  he 
Seems  to  drowse. 

And  from  his  brows 
The  barber  lifts  a  curling  lock. 
Snip  J  .  . 

It  is  like  an  electric  shock ! 
Look  at  the  mirror !    Look  at  the  clock ! 
The  plate-glass  mirror  suddenly  ripples 
Concave,  convex. 

The  moon-faced  clock  is  whizzing 
Its  hands  around  and  round. 
Like  galvanized  cripples 
The  customers  perplex 
The  barbers  with  their  antics. 
They  writhe  and  slump  and  bound. 
The  shaving  mugs  are  fizzing. 
For  the  stranger's  supple  hands, 
Emerging  from  the  sheet 
That  covers  him  completely. 
Are  making  passes  fleetly. 
Hypnotic,  weird  commands 
That  mock  the  silly  sunlight 
From  the  prosaic  street ! 

[34] 


FILMS 
The  mirror-flanking  bottles,  blue  and  red. 
Shoot  up  strange  spills  and  quills  that  elongate 
And  suddenly  diminish,  having  fluffed  to  feathery  head. 
And  madly,  at  the  rate 
Of  dreams,  the  barbers  all  lay  on 
With  flashing  razors,  shimmering  scissors. 
While  all  the  chairs  rotate 
Like  demon  whizzers. 
All  daylight  actuality  is  gone! 

See !     The  electrical  massage  machine 

Is  burr-rring  like  a  fiend  let  loose. 

The  water  pours 

From  basins  on  to  floors, 

A  shining  sluice. 

And — what  the  deuce! — 

The  white  soiled-towel  holders 

Disgorge  long  tumbling  strips 

Of  flowering  towels,  purple,  pink,  and  green. 

That  trip  the  feet; 

And  from  unfortunate  shoulders 

Every  tucked  sheet 

Is  whisked, — and  foam  and  lather  froths  and  drips 

Whitely  across  the  scene. 

And  as  for  hair, — 

Hair  ?     It  is  everywhere  ! 

Black  hair,  brown  hair,  blonde  hair  and  red 

Sprouts  and  curls  and  lengthens 

From  every  head. 

[35  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

Even  the  bald  pate  turns  beneath  the  eye 

To  a  capillary  jungle  on  the  sly. 

Over  the  floor, 

Full  knee-deep  now, — 

Out  of  the  door 

Like  a  wild  hay-mow. 

The  hirsute  horror  engulfs  the  little  shop. 

Stop,  you  devil-stranger !     Good  Lord,  stop ! 

Hippety-hop 

Dance  the  frantic  crew 

Of  barbers  turned  to  jumping-jacks.  The  manicurist 
too 

Is  shrieking.  What  avails  "half-moons"  politely  scis- 
sored. 

When  this  fearful  length  of  nails  (begotten  of  that 
wizard!) 

Is  pouring  from  the  fingers  of  her  "catch,"  like  squirm- 
ing flails !  .  . 

And  the  yellow  Dandruff  Cure 

And  the  fat  Hirsutus  bottle 

Their  ruby  streams  and  green 

Are  playing  on  the  mess ! 

Black  magic,  that  is  sure ! 

Oh  swiftly,  someone,  throttle 

The  author  of  a  scene  of  such  distress ! 

And  then  the  stranger  rises 
In  his  weird  suspenders. 
Still  weaving  of  his  fingers. 
And  the  shop  surrenders 

[  36  ] 


FILMS 
To  his  further  moods  and  tenses. 
Hypnotically  waving 
His  digits,  he  commences 
A  master-task  of  shaving. 
For,  drawing  from  his  pocket 
A  blade  as  sharp  as  scandal, 
He  fits  it  to  the  socket 
Of  an  enormous  handle ; 
And  seizes  one  and  other. 
And  holds  them  in  a  vise.  .  . 
As  bald  as  a  billiard-ball  they  leave  him  in  a  trice! 

Staggering  and  stumbling 

Through  that  rolling  hairy  sea. 

With  acrobatic  tumbling 

One  by  one  they  flee, 

Staring  eyes  and  beaded  brow, — 

Till — the  shop  is  empty  now, 

But — all's  in  place  again! 

And  the  eye  discovers  then 

A  swift  and  stealthy  cat, 

That  was  not  there  before. 

Slinking  through  the  door 

In  a  black  top-hat!  .   . 

And  the  sunlight  shimmers.     And  a  passing  "cop" 

Gawks  through  the  door  of  the  deserted  barber-shop.  .  . 

And  the  film  tails  out  to  punctures,  and  the  loud  laughs 
stop. 

[  37  ] 


SMOKE 

Pouring  up  from  that  office-building's  chimney  against 

the  blue. 
Clots  and  gouts  of  dense  white  smoke  are  sailing. 
Up  and  out  into  sun  that  lights  them  and  wind  that 

shreds  them  away, 
Blinding  white,  dove-gray, 
Acrobatic  masses  of  smoke  are  swirling  and  tumbling 

and  trailing 
And  dancing  over  the  roofs  to  the  sky  of  a  vivid  autumn 

day. 

Black  smoke  is  a  terror  and  wonder, 

And  smoke  that  is  purple  like  thunder. 

And  smoke  over  foundries  at  night 

Wears  a  weird  volcanic  light. 

The  smoke  of  a  city  fire  glows 

Like  the  palpitant  heart  of  a  rose. 

Opal  is  smoke  at  evening,  when  roofs  are  the  snow's. 

But  from  these  smoke  forms  might  be  sculptured  great 

symbols  of  joy  and  peace. 
They  bulge  forth  to  the  sun  like  clouds,  as  white  as  the 

speckless  fleece 
Of  that  one  dazzling  cloud  in  the  delicate  blue  of  the 

dome. 
Shaped  like  a  fairy  alp  fringed  with  a  spectral  foam. 
Nymphs  of  the  air,  ghosts  of  the  gods  of  Greece, 
Surf  of  the  sky  they  seem  in  their  bright  release. 

[38] 


SMOKE 

The  cornices  of  the  office-building's  roof 

Are  hard  and  cold;  its  outlines  are  hard  and  cold. 

Its  windows  are  like  the  eyes  of  selfish  and  cruel  men. 

Glory,  I  cry,  full  glory  then 

To  these  billowing  masses  of  snowy  smoke, 

These  ephemeral  but  wildly  immaculate  plumes 

High  and  aloof 

Tossing  above  the  ledgers  and  the  looms, 

The  dusty,  drab,  disheartened  office  rooms. 

The  thousand  petty  tyrannies  and  glooms ! 

Cut  me  a  cloak. 

Ye  traders  in  sweated  garments_,  in  waists  and  gabar- 
dines. 

Though  far  beyond  your  means, 

Yet  cut  me  a  cloak  from  such  cloud. 

Ye  stout,  purse-proud, 

Cigar-stupored  dullards,  and,  lo!  I  will  cry  you  aloud — 

Even  you — for  gods,  you  who  fumble  your  fabrics,  nor 
dream 

That  the  genius  of  steam 

Shames  you  in  robes  so  bright 

Of  sun-blinded  immaculate  white 

Even  now  from  your  high  roofs  billowing,  heroic  in  riot 
astream. 


[39] 


GREEN  TURTLES 

There  was  something  live  and  stirring 
Past  the  smudgy,  fly-specked  glass, — 
Something  strange  and  weird,  averring, 
To  the  constant  crowds  that  pass. 
More  than  what  its  glassy  mate 
Shimmered  on  the  eye. 
So  I  slowed  my  hurried  gait 
As  my  feet  went  by. 

First  I  searched  the  further  window, 

Happy  as  a  child. 

Red  tomatoes,  silver  fish,  yellow  lemons  piled 

On  a  chopped  ice  bed; 

Brilliant  color  splashed  about ! 

A  sign  in  the  window  simply  said, 

"Brook  Trout." 

Then,  "Corn  on  the  Cob"  I  read; 

Saw  the  oyster-shells 

Gleam  in  scalloped  rows — then,  something  else 

That  set  the  doors  hospitably  creaking  on  their  jambs 

And  moved  my  mouth  to  watering: 

"Baked  Soft  Clams." 

But  that  was  on  a  swing-board  the  other  side  the  rise 

Of  the  low  stone  steps  .  .  so  I  lifted  up  my  eyes, 

[40] 


GREEN  TURTLES 
And,  in  the  Weird  Window,  I  saw  a  parrot  beak 
Nosing  up  the  glass  with  its  nostril-holes  aseek. 
And  I  stood  and  I  stared,  with  an  A.  D.  T. 
And  a  leathern-aproned   fellow.      There   we   stood,  we 

three. 
Gazing    at    the    Turtles,    with    our    dumbly-wondered 

"whys," 
While  in  deep  eye-sockets  rolled  their  dark  grieved  eyes. 

There  they  slopped  about  in  a  little  muddy  wet, 

Their  hind-flippers  shoving  out  a  toe-claw  slow, — 

Dreaming  of  the  estuaries  ? — trying  to  forget 

The  West  Indies,  the  Pacific,  or  the  Gulf  of  Mexico? 

Each  horny-crusted  carapace  had  gleam  and  glow 

Of    amber,    polished    agate,    bronze    or    gold;    and    all 

together 
They    nosed    along    the    show-glass    disgusted    at    the 

weather. 
Their  flippers  curved  like  scimetars  in  sheaths  of  var- 
nished leather. 
Their  necks  a  web  of  wrinkles, — and  their  spirits  low. 

"Green"  is  what  they  call  them,  but  they  are  not  green; 
They    are    crackled    yellow    lacquer,    fleshy-black,    and 

orange-shelled, — 
At  least  in  shades  of  orange  were  the  ones  that  I  beheld. 
My  blundering  chelonians,  that  came,  the  waiter  said. 
Only  from  Long  Island.      (But  each  searching,  waving 

head 
Spoke  of  deep-sea  beaches  and  of  algae-meals  instead!) 

[  41  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Indeed  they  seemed  a  marvel,  in  that  "Sea  Food"  place; 
They  mesmerized  my  mind  with  their  thrusting  bulk! 
And  I  saw  gigantic  tortoises  swimming  round  a  hulk 
Sunk  deep  off  Galapagos ;  I  saw  the  carapace 
Of  the  tortoise  of  the  legend  bear  up  the  weighty  mass 
Of  this  world,  and  the  poet  in  Apollo  come  to  pass 
Through  a  turtle's  ribs  and  plates,  till  he  shook  the  sun- 
rise gates 
With  heaven-smiting  harmony  and  song  like  Hippocras ! 
And  then  one  turtle  "turned  turtle"  while  he  sought 
An  exit  through  this  water  that  was  firm  and  smooth  and 

hard, 
And  no  use  to  struggle  at,  since  one  only  tumbled  flat — 
And  back  through  cloudy  years  blew  my  startled  thought 
To  days  by  my  memory  silver-starred. 

There's  a  creek  near  the  Susquehanna  River 

Where  the  sunbeams  dance  and  quiver 

And  the  mud  lies  caked  and  browned  and  baked. 

And  the  grasses  sigh  to  the  summer  sky, 

And  you  mark,  from  the  ooze  upcraning, 

A  shiny  black  head,  disdaining 

The  sky's  bright  blaze  with  its  haughty  gaze 

Of  an  eye  like  a  bead;  and  soon  indeed 

The  sliders  slip  from  the  wet  creek-lip. 

And  then  you  can  note  on  head  and  throat 

The  golden  stripes,  as  the  splay-foot  wipes 

On  a  reed,  and  the  shell  emerges  well 

Of  the  tiny  knight  in  his  hauberk  tight 

With  his  wrinkled  flesh  like  a  close  black  mesh 

[  42  ] 


GREEN  TURTLES 
Of  light  chain  mail,  and  absurd  toy  tail. 
Oh  red-bellied  terrapin  the  black  boys  love, 
Up  I  see  you  heave  with  a  hunch  and  a  shove, 
Shoot  your  neck  in  its  webbed  elastic  skin 
And  crane  with  the  hauteur  of  a  mandarin. 
Your  scarlet  plastron  is  brave  to  see 
When  one  tilts  you  over  carefully, 

But   your   black-lacquered   coat   would   have   graced,   I 
know,  , 

The  cabinet  of  the  Magnifico. 

And  your  hose  are  embroidered  with  brilliant  thread 
In  stripes  of  gleaming  gold  or  red. 
What  if  your  snappishness  shows  you  bilious, — 
You  are  sublimely  supercilious ! 

My  grandmother's  house  is  white 

With  bright  green  shutters  bowed. 

'Tis  a  delightful,  simple  sight 

To  see  it  from  the  road  I 

And  if  you  want  some  milk  and  rusk. 

Turn  down  the  lane  and  tap 

At  the  side  screen-door,  or  seek  the  dusk 

Of  the  parlors,  each  an  ample  lap, 

From  the  little  pillared  porch,  that  twines 

With  morning-glory  vines. 

Once  there  was  a  garden  bright 
Right  before  her  door. 
All  box-bordered  of  a  height ; 
Flower-beds  many  score, 

[  43  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Tan-bark  walks  that  had  the  smell 
Of  Heaven  and  a  miracle. 
And  an  arbor-gate  as  well! 

How  good  she  was  to  one  so  small 

When  "Nat/'  the  colored  boy,  was  all 

My  marvel ! — jit  for  Fame's  green  wreath! 

Why,  he  could  whistle  through  his  teeth 

And  walk  upon  his  pink-palmed  hands, — 

And  earn  my  Uncle's  reprimands! 

And  once,  when  I  was  rather  sick, 

He  brought  me  turtles  from  the  "Crick," 

Those  same  red-bellied  sliders,  only 

Oh  so  small ! — and  looking  lonely, 

I  thought.   .   .  I  put  them  in  a  bowl. 

And  round  they  paddled,  sick  of  soul 

For  their  sweet  mud — and  in  the  night. 

When  small-boy  eyes  were  sealed  up  tight, 

They  hauled  them  up  and  dropped  flip-flop 

From  bowl's  rim  to  the  table-top, 

From  table-top  to  matted  floor. 

And  lounged  superbly  out  the  door. 

And  slid  through  grasses,  proud  and  slick, 

And  swaggered  back  into  the  "Crick." 

Bubble-throat  basker,  beaked  fly-snapper. 
Prim  and  particular,  pert  and  dapper, — 
Cumberland  Valley,  fail  thou  never 
Of  these  quaint  denizens  forever! 

*  *  *  *  -x-  *  * 

[  44  ] 


GREEN  TURTLES 

My  brain  floundered  back  again. 

I  heard  the  waiter  say. 

Flapping  his  napkin, — "Fine  and  fresh,  today! 

Turtle  steak — thirty  cents  !     Turtle  soup — fifteen  !*' 

I  was  glad  they  could  not  hear. 

I  felt  too  mean ! 


[  45   ] 


THE  SUFFRAGE  PROCESSION 

We  marched  in  the  Women's  Parade. 
Our  round  yellow  lanterns  swayed 
Down  the  village  street. 
Transparencies  bobbed  above. 
And  along  the  line. 
The  Autumn  night  was  a  thing  to  love. 
Cool  and  blue  and  divine. 
Ripe  like  wine. 

Our  feet  scuffed,  beating  time, 
To  the  drummers  behind  and  before; 
And  the  foolish  yellow  flag  I  bore 

Was  a  ruddy  banner  rippling  out  to  a  ringing  battle 
rhyme. 

As  the  replicating  drumsticks  rattled 

To  the  cymbals  clashing, 

The  stars  wheeled  in  cohorts  dense,  embattled. 

Their  bright  spears  flashing. 

"  A-ruhdub-rubdub-rubadubadub, 

The  girl  I  left  behind  me!" 

In  the  ranks  of  the  women  before  us 

Marching  silent  to  our  whistling  chorus 

Flashed  forth  the  face  I  love,  merry  and  kind  and  bright, 

The  eyes  with  their  sweet  and  loyal  light 

Thrilled  to  starry  brilliance,  upthrusting  a  banner  o'er  us 

Of  blinding  white. 

[  46  ] 


THE  SUFFRAGE  PROCESSION 
I  marched  with  the  men  behind — 
And  yet,  hand  in  hand  with  her, 
On  a  lonely  mountain  height 
I  stood,  and  watched  cloud-chasms  fill  with  fire 
And  the  golden  phoenix  all  our  dreams  desire 
Struggle  blazing  aloft  like  a  great  and  flaming  flower. 
With  a  crimson  shower 
Of  scattering  sparks  on  his  darkly  smouldering  pyre. 

Lonely  purple  peak 

Snow-strewn, 

Magnificent  under  the  moon. 

Would  you  could  speak ! 

You  know  so  well  which  one  of  us  holds  your  lease, 

Reaps  the  superb  increase 

Of  your  meadows  of  flowery  vision. 

Your  pastures  Elysian! 

Yet  am  I  inheritor 

Through  her  of  your  galaxies. 

Your  God-transfixing  trees, 

Your  red  sunrise  door. 

These  that  returned  no  more 

When  I  lusted  and  laughed  of  yore 

Now  burst  on  my  mind  like  arousing  and  cleansing  surf 

On  a  baked  and  scurfy  shore ! 

Loud  o'er  the  wrangling  drum 

These  things  cry  "Come !" 

In  the  merry  flame  of  her  faith  my  fears  are  dumb. 

[  47  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Our  silly  round  yellow  lanterns  sway 
On  to  a  sword-white  dawn  of  day 
Whatever  the  weary  wise  men  say ! 

"A-rubdub-rubadub-arubadubadubf 
The  girl  .  .    ?" 


[  48  ] 


ON  SUNDAY 

What  are  your  Sundays  to  you  ?     To  me  they  are  heaven. 

I  do  not  hurry  through  breakfast  or  rise  at  seven. 

I  have  time  to  play  with  Jim, 

Who   is    one   and   a   half,   yellow-haired,   quite    a   jolly 

viking. 
With  this  earth  a  lot  to  his  liking, 
Fond  of  adventures  in  words  and  an  artist  in  whim; 
The  Marcelline  of  the  infant  world,  with  the  heart  of 

a  dauntless  hero. 
And  also  a  dash  of  tears 
That  would  soften  even  Nero. 

Then,  if  my  pen  is 

Slow,  and  the  jobs  are  done,  and  she  says  I  may. 

And  the  year's  too  late  for  a  swim  together,  I  ramble 

off  toward  the  bay 
To  play  at  tennis. 

In  the  autumn  it  sets  the  blood  leaping 

And  clears  the  brain  to  a  cool,  crisp-thinking  joy 

To  swing  at  the  ball  and  to  charge  to  the  net  and  volley. 

Even  to  race  "all  out"  for  a  lob  to  the  base-line 

Or  fizzle  a  manful  smash  with  a  smack  "on  the  wood" ! 

The  cold  sweat   stings   on  your   forehead,   the   tape   of 

your  racket 
Sticks  to  your  hand  or  grinds  too  gritty  with  sand 

[  49  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
In  your  palm;  but  this  cannot  irk  one  for  more  than  an 

instant, 
The  play  is  too  hot. 

And  shuttlecock-battledore  leaps  the  barbarous  banter 
Of  the  doubles  players.     The  grunts  and  the  curses  and 

sighs 
Of  your  partner,  of  your  opponent,  of  you  yourself, 
Float  up  like  delectable  incense. 

And  his  cross-court  return  forever  shoots  at  my  feet! 
Why  can  I  only  "get  in"  when  the  serve  is  a  fault? 

The  shower-bath  starts  with  a  sprinkle  of  drops  that 
drum 

On  the  slatted  floor  of  the  bath-house.    Then  swish-swish- 

SWISH!  it  is  mantling  your  shoulders,   soaking  your 
hair, 

Thrusting  whole  sheaves  of  icicles  under  your  shudder- 
ing skin. 

"Yow!"    you   leap.      **Yow,    Yow!"    and    yank    at    the 
handle. 

SWISH! 

The  confronting  bay  is  all  cold-blue  glitter. 

But   these    fields    and   undulant   hills    and   rich-colored 
woods 

Are  wistful  with  afternoon  sunlight,  garnet,  and  bronze. 

The  smell  of  the  stalks  of  milkweed  and  withered  grass. 

The  flaunt  of  chestnut  and  beech 

And  oak,  in  Assyrian  robes,  set  raiment  on  God, 

[  ^0  1 


ON  SUNDAY 

And  throne  Him  on  high  in  the  ruddying  afterglow 
That  turns  such  an  embered  crimson  through  ash-colored 
clouds. 

He  is  there! 

Lo !  with  all  principalities^  angels^  and  powers  of  the  air. 

He  is  there! 

He  careers  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  the  blazing-eyed  beasts 

Of  St.  John's  Apocalypse  sheer  o'er  the  rioting  sky; 

His  face  is  the  setting  sun^ 

Radiant^  but  sad^  irradiating  life, 

And  solemn  with  finer  meanings,  a  nobler  mien; 

A  lion-like  face,  and  mournful,  with  a  wild  and  golden 

mane. 
Yet  with  intelligence  infinite  shining  in  love  all-wise 
Out  of  brilliant,  not  cruel,  eyes ; 

Love  in  each  lineament,  majesty  dwarfing  the  skies. 
The  God  that  must  reign ! 

On  Sunday  night 

At  first  we  got  our  own  suppers 

When  even  more  "on  our  uppers" 

Than  now,  and  the  yellow  lamp  cast  its  mellow  beam 

On  a  table  of  picnic  dream. 

And  we  both  spread  many  a  theme 

With  verbal  jam,  like  our  toast.     And  now  we  do  much 

the  same. 
Save  for  our  cook.     The  babies  quiet  down, 

[  51  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

The  street  sounds  drown 

In  darkness,  the  chill  stars  sentry  the  sleeping  hill. 

Hurry  and  worry  are  still. 

Peace  breathes  through  the  town 

Like  a  flicker  of  lambent  flame — 

Peace  and  good- will. 

We  read 

According  to  mood  and  need 

To  each  other  or  alone, 

Remarks  and  laughter  thrown 

Hit  or  miss  in  the  air  to  echo  around  the  lamp 

Our  enthusiasms  come  out,  nose  around,  unruffle  their 

wings,  and  stamp, 
Shake   their    silvery    forelocks    and    curvet   about,    and 

champ 
The  golden  oats  of  some  seer's  fit  phrase 
That   we   feed   them,   some   poet's   blossomy,   succulent 

bays. 
And  then  we  sit  and  gaze 

Long  at  a  picture,  and  think  that  we  think  instead 
Of  merely  rechewing  a  chewed-out  cud  of  the  last  thing 

said. 
And  we  simply  cannot  haul  a  heavy  head 
Up  thought's  frail,  difficult,  gleaming  spider- thread. 
And  it's  time  for  the  baby's  bottle,  and  time — to — go — 

to — bed. 

I  lie  in  my  bed,  and  think  of  my  soul,  and  decide 
I  am  only  a  mixture  of  animal  spirits  and  pride 

[52] 


ON  SUNDAY 

And  conventional  sleekness  and  sudden  emotional 
blether^ 

And  I  don't  know  whether 

I  have  a  soul;  but  I  lie  in  my  bed  and  see 

A  bright-green  star  in  a  violet  haze  through  a  moon- 
stark  tree. 

Whee-ee-ee ! 


[53] 


NIGHT-MOTORING  . 

The  high  moon  swinging  before. 

And  the  big  car  swaying. 

Lifting  the  grade  with  a  roar, 

Swerving  and  sliding. 

Leaping  and  purring,  and  playing 

With  its  insolent  power,  and  checking  and  drifting  and 
gliding ! 

The  stare  and  glare  of  the  light  that  scouted  before  us 

From  a  lip  of  curved  shadow  etched  out  the  detail  of  the 
road 

Like  a  white,  incandescent  river,  rippling  and  fleet,  flow- 
ing to  meet  / 

Our    swift    tyre's    muffled    and    crisping,    monotonous 
chorus — - 
Hallelujah!  the  stride  that  we  strode! 

The  wind  whipped  our  cheeks  till  all  being  softened  and 

glowed 
Or  flashed  with  a  glacial  brilliance,  and  throbbed  in  our 

ears 
A  steady  pulsation  surmounting  and  merging  all  fears 
And  cares  in  some  spirit  triumph  beyond  the  years. 

Things  lunged  at  us  out  of  the  night, 
Great  masses  of  shadow  hurled  past; 
Yellow  eyes  down  the  road  blazed  bright ; 

[  54  1 


NIGHT-MOTORING 
Our  horn  blew  a  Gabriel-blast: 
With  a  fillip  of  dust  they  were  gone. 
Our  ear  swayed  on. 

Trees  leaped  toward  our  spectral  light, 

Every  leaf,  in  its   ray,  yellow-sere  with  some  leprous 

blight. 
It  seemed,  every  leaf-notch  distinct ! 
Grass  flowed  past,  of  a  poisonous  green, 
Further  shadows  were  ebony-inked; 
Like  a  painted  canvas  scene. 
Everything  flashed  unreal  and  flat  to  the  eye. 
Faked,  artificial,  and  mean. 

But  in  distance,  beyond  the  unreeling  white  fences, 
Where  the  landscape  moved  more  slowly. 
The  moon,  that  absolves  and  dispenses, 
Made  all  things  holy. 

The  square  orange  windows  of  farms 

Where  dark  woodlands  stretched  slumberous  arms, 

The  surging  great  hills,  vague  and  proud. 

The  silvery  curdle  of  cloud — 

All  composed  to  a  wonderful,  soft-hued,  visual  prayer. 

The  rich,  passionate  land  lay  bare 

To  the  nuptials  of  fierce  white  stars;  and  the  hissing 

wind  in  our  hair 
That  started  our  strained  eyes  moist  with  its  swift,  cold 

kiss. 
Taught  our  swooning  and  leaping  blood  of  this 
Strange,  sorrow-begetting  bliss, 

[  55  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
This  heartrending,  ecstatic  embrace 
Disembodied,  that  thrills  through  the  tremulous  air  of 

night 
Stirring  the  thought  to  delirious  flight 
Into  fathomless  space. 

Corn-shocks,  close  by,  stood  out  sudden  like  some  weird 

herd 
Of  tousled  beasts.     Like  a  lion's  our  greeting  purred. 
Where  the   road  was   mending,   each   stealthy   assassin 

shadow 
Leaped  alertly  behind  its  heap  of  gray  cut-stone. 
And  merged  in  the  dusk  of  the  meadow. 

We  flew  not  alone. 

By  the  side  of  our  car  its  own  shadow  swayed 

And  towered  in  the  trees,  ran  the  walls,  unafraid 

Of  the  threatened  raid  from  each  ambuscade 

Of  crouching  houses  or  lurking  hedges. 

Far  down  the  road  three  ruby  lights 

Appeared  at  its  edges. 

We  took  the  planks  of  a  bridge  with  a  rippling  jar; 

We  whirled  to  the  heights ; 

And  then  our  car 

Plunged  through  a  tunnel  of  purple  gloom. 

Shaking  volleys  of  bloom 

From  trespassing  boughs  and  bushes,  and  flung  in  a  last 

flight  down 
To  the  glow  on  the  sky  of  the  thousand-tentacled  town! 

[  56  ] 


THE  ASYLUM 

I  love  my  asylum, 
My  home  in  the  skies, 
Splashed  with  splendid  color. 
Drenched  in  dazzling  dyes: 
Clouds  and  winds  and  oceans, 
Blue  above — below. 
I  love  my  asylum.   .  . 
But  the  other  inmates.^    No! 

All  in  our  asylum 

Are  mad  as  can  be. 

I  stick  my  tongue  at  them. 

They  stick  their  tongues  at  me. 

And  purple  authorities 

And  gilded  bloody  gods 

All  rule  in  our  asylum 

With  black  whips  and  rods. 

And  men  cry  Alleluia 
To  hop-toads  with  wings ; 
And  women  love  poodles ; 
And  all  love  breaking  things. 
Love  swearing  and  peering, 
Love  reptiles  and  lice.  .   . 
You  see,  in  my  asylum 
It  isn't  very  nice. 

[  57  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
But  sometimes  the  windows 
Are  burst  by  magic  dawns, 
And  then  we  see  far  vistas 
Of  star-embroidered  lawns 
Where  rational  angels 
Are  laughing  like  fun. 
But,  of  course,  in  our  asylum 
It  simply  isn't  done! 

So  one  wears  a  crown. 
One  piles  his  gold  in  rows. 
One  balances  a  feather 
On  the  end  of  his  nose. 
One's  a  sword-swallower. 
One  mumbles  One-two-three. 
And  all  in  our  asylum 
Are  unhappy  as  can  he. 

For,  you  see,  the  whole  trouble 
(Though  we're  absolutely  mad) 
Is,  we  fear  a  strange  sensation 
We  have  sometimes  had. 
So  sometimes  we  huddle  close 
And  clutch  at  heart  and  brain. 
For  I'll  tell  you  what's  the  trouble: 
We're  afraid  of  going — sane! 


[  58  ] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 

Personages:     The  Clown  Introducer. 

The  Villain  of  the  Piece. 

The  Lady  Truth. 

The  Watchman. 

The  Blackamoor. 

The  Proprietor. 
Interludes:     The    Yellow    Cook,    the    Hobby-horse 

Knight,  the  Dragon. 

The  Smiler  and  a  Succession  of  Suitors. 


Start  the  music  softly,  as  a  delicate  mist  is  shaken,  for 

a   thousand   folded  butterflies   of   rose   and  blue 

and  brown 
Are  tremoring  on  a  golden  gauze  with   stirring  wings 

that  waken  in  the  patterns  of  this  curtain  now 

presented  by  the  Clown. 
With  his  wand  of  intricate  ivory — its   tip   an  emerald 

gleam — he  obsesses  and  distresses  like  the  poign- 

ance  of  a  dream; 
Stay !     Our  sighs  may  well  come  after.     Now  Delight 

would  dance  with   Laughter.      Floury-faced  the 

Clown  is  smiling,  in  his  clothes  of  silver-cream. 
Crimson    pompom    buttons    shaking,    and    his    tall    cap 

tinkling  bells,  his   strutting,   baggy  waggishness 

entices  and  compels; 

[  59  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
And  be  certain  to  watch  the  curtain, — how  its  patterns 
shift  and  blend,  rich  and  splendid  till — the  end — 
There !     They  float  to  butterflies. 
What  bewildering  brilliant  dyes  flutter  and  whirl  and 
waft  and  rise,  in  a  breath,  beyond  our  eyes ! 

Now  the  golden  gauze  but  hazes,  now  the   gaze   is 

dazed  outright 
By   a   yellow   moon   benignant   over   hills    in   purple 

night. 
There's  a  foreground  drenched  in  white,  glimmering 

white,  that  plays  in  mazes. 
Here's  the  House  of  Cards  before  us,  in  a  country  of 

delight. 

Oh  what  best  of  all  surprises !  for  the  cards  are  mam- 
moth sizes,  and  their  ebony  pips  and  scarlet,  and 
the  heads  of  queens  and  kings 

Brave  with  color,  stare  and  charm  us;  and  the  House 
would  fain  disarm  us,  with  its  one  red-curtained 
window,  and  its  thread  of  smoke  that  swings 

In  a  faint  and  violet  spiral  dim  and  gyral  toward  the 
canopy,  and  curling  down  and  twirling  makes  its 
exit  through  the  wings. 

To  left  of  stage  the  House  is  set.     A  red  brick  wall 

beside 
Runs   clean  across   the  stage  to   right.     The   double 

gates  are  green 

[  60  ] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
And  wide.     Behind  them  spreads  a  tree,  high  enough 

not  to  hide 
Their  height,   with   iringy   creepers   hung  dim-tinted 

blooms  between. 
Beyond   the   garden   heap   the   hills — blue,   low,   and 

moon-delighted. 
Now,    from    the    right,    a    figure    steals    beneath    the 

garden-wall. 

His  doublet's  pied,  his  sleeves  are  slashed,  his  boots 

are  splashed.     Benighted, 
In  gilded  mask,  with  suavest  grace,  he  makes  his  bow 

to  all. 

He  turns  his  face.     You  see 
A  subtle  gleam  of  glee. 
Dagger-like  black  mustachios. 
Dagger-like  beard  has  he. 

With  a  sudden  savage  gesture,  sure  to  test  your  mental 
poise. 

He  waves  one  arm,  and  over  it  floats  his  Harmony- 
cloak,  with  musical  notes 

Twining  its  snow-white  lining. 

Far  that  inky  shadow  falls 

Over  garden,  house,  and  walls. 

As  a  thunder-cloud  deploys.  .  . 

Zing! 

[  61  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
A  stride. 
Two  catlike  strides  that  undulate,  and  he  has  reached 

the  garden-gate. 
A  heavy  key  he  draws. 
Clicks  locks  without  a  pause. 
Opens  the  gates  a  crevice,  whirls  his  arms, — one  final 

fling. 
And  he's  inside ! 

"Who  was  he?"  buzz  the  voices  from  the  white  and 
floating  faces 

Of  the  audience  vapor-moulded  to  an  ocean  foaming  free, 

"Yes,  who  is  he?"  .  .  They  are  dizzy  with  the  dubious 
trail  he  traces 

Through  the  gate  of  lost  illusions  that  is  called  Expe- 
diency. 

"Can  it  be  that  garden  guards  .  .   ?" 

Hush !  The  bright  red  shutters  open  in  the  vivid  House 
of  Cards. 

Like  a  flower  afloat 

Her  face  and  throat 

Lift  agleam  from  her  drab  dark  dress. 

Her  hair  is  a  blaze 

Of  broad  sun-rays 

Caught  close  and  braided  above  her  brows. 

She  twines  her  fingers. 

A  sad  smile  lingers 

On  perfect  lips.     Her  eyes  distress 

[  62  ] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
Dumbly  seeks^ 
And  her  gesture  speaks 
Of  the  gloom  of  her  room 
In  that  tight  card-house. 

She  fades^  reappears 

With  a  sea-green  gown 

Laid  out  on  her  arms — and  shakes  it  down 

From  the  window-sill.     It  is  looped  and  twined 

With  flowers  of  every  color  and  kind. 

As  it  sways  and  turns 

Each  glows  and  burns 

And  gladdens  the  eyes 

With  its  dew-bright  dyes.  .  . 

She  withdraws  it  then — 

With  kisses  and  tears 

Crushes  it  close — and  disappears. 

In  her  drab  black  dress  she  is  seen  again 

Framed  in  the  window's  strict  dark  square, 

And,  leaning  forth,  she  turns  and  sees 

The  round  moon's  beacon  beyond  that  tree's 

Sweep  of  bough. 

Lovely  despair 

Clutches  her  now. 

Her  desperateness 

Bids  her  stretch  arms  to  the  moon  up  there. 

Dimly  at  first,  in  lines  of  light 

Like  cloudy  fringe  that  trails  and  lightens 

[  63  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Across  its  sphere,  the  moon's  orb  brightens 
Into  a  Face — of  no  mere  creature — 
The  countenance  of  some  angel  jester 
In  God's  white  courts.  .  .  It  grows  more  bright. 
Good  for  our  lady !    The  moon  has  guessed  her 
Plight, — and  so  now  its  largest  feature — 
That  smiling  mouth — is  suddenly  split 
Crimson  and  wide  by  a  laughing-fit 
Which   wrinkles   its    eyes   closed.  .  .  Jest?      Deep 

earnest ! 
Out  of  that  broad  grin  redly-furnaced 
Suddenly  swarms  {like  moths  against 
A  glowing  lamp  benign  and  spherical) 
A  fluttering  flight  of  elves,  dispensed 
From  heaven's  store-house  of  things  chimcerical  .  . 
And  immediately  our  mazed  eyes  find 
Dazzling  streams  of  silver  beams 
Which  the  moon  has  spread  to  the  dusk  behind 
That  garden-wall!    All  spangled  white 
An  elf -troop  descends  those  roads  of  light! 

Moon's  mouth  claps  shut  on  that  sudden  dawn. 
In  a  wink  each  silver  beam's  withdrawn. 
And  still,  as  we  all  watch  deep  in  thrall 
Of  the  miracle, — see,  how  the  garden  wall 
Suddenly  buds  with  those  silver  caps 
Feathered  with  blue!     Gay-faced,  if  queer. 
There  they  appear. 
The  glistening  chaps. 
One — six — a  dozen,  in  satin  silk-wear 

[  64  ] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
With  pale  blue  facings, — the  pages'  suits 
Of  some  audience  hall  in  the  Faraway 
That  they  and  their  ilk  wear ! 
Now  they  display 

With  utter  rapture — these  antic  mutes — 
Looped  from  their  hands  in  glistering  strands 
A  silken-woven  steel-strong  ladder. 
(Ah,  how  the  lady's  face  grows  gladder !) 
They  swing  it  and  dance  atop  the  wall 
Then  leap  down  lightly  one  and  all, 
Bow  with  politeness,  and,  tip-toe  reaching. 
Toss  its  gold  cord  to  her  rapt  beseeching. 

She  has  it  now.     She  draws  it  in, 

Flinging  them  kisses.     They  whirl  a  glad 

Saraband, — leap  the  wall  like  mad, 

And,  as  the  Moon's  face  once  more  bursts 

To  a  second  triumphant  grin,  they  scamper 

Swift  up  its  beams — like  leaf-dry  thirsts 

Absorbed  in  a  wine-cask,  or  mice  in  a  hamper. 

Ah,  how  she  fondles  her  gift  from  the  Moon, 

Pressing  its  silk  against  her  cheek! 

Her  eyes  grow  large  and  bright.     Sweet  tune 

Plays  on  her  lips.     If  she  could  but  speak!  . 

To  a  peg  in  the  window-niche  she  loops 

The  golden  cord,  and  the  ladder  droops 

Over  the  window-sill.     And  still 

She  lingers  (as  every  darer  will). 

And,  as  she  lingers  and  chin-on-hand 

Leans  toward  the  garden, — that  garden  Tree 

[  65  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Lights  at  once  from  within,  mysteriously; 
Spreads  broad  ablaze  (as  a  D jinn's  command 
Had  waked  its  splendor!).    Each  branch  bears 
Golden  apples  or  silver  pears 
In  sheaves  of  jewelled  emerald  leaves, 
And,  like  honey  dripping  among  wild  roses, 
Sweet  notes  of  bird-song  grow  to  warbling 
Wilder  and  trillier,  more  melodious 
Than  ever  was  heard.  .  .  Why,  the  nightingale 
One's  yearning  supposes  in  Arno's  vale 
Amid  oleanders  and  Tuscan  marbling, 
To  this  were  cacophonous  and  odious ! 

And  the  twiggy  tips  of  the  branches  seem 

{Enveined  with  life  by  this  gorgeous  dream) 

To  twist  to  letters — a  fringy  fire 

In  fading  outline  above  the  tree, 

A  wraith-like  script  that  curiously 

Seemed  to  write  "ROMANCE/'  when  its  seething 

glitter  ate 
Into  the  dark — did  it  not  obliterate 
Even  more  swiftly! 

Our  lady  smiles 
Stilly,  bewildered.     Then  the  birds 
Burst  into  brighter  cascades  of  words. 
The  gems  of  bird-poetry — far  too  clear 
To  be  understood  of  the  mortal  ear, — 
Wafture  on  wafture  of  brilliant  song 
In  rapid  ripples  bestrewn  with  gems 

[  66  1 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
From  a  thousand  goblin  diadems 
Emerges  in  surges  from  the  tree.  .  . 
And  there,  in  the  background,  suddenly 
Two  other  hid  trees  shoot  up  and  burst 
Ablaze  with  flowers  and  fruits  like  jewels 
And  flickers  of  flame  as  from  fairy  fuels — 
In  all  the  grandeur  of  the  first. 

Golden-hair,  in  her  card-board  attic, 

Claps  her  white  hands,  and  goes  ecstatic. 

Farther  and  farther  forth  she  strains 

And  twists,  in  her  drab  black  dress. 

As  though  she  struggled  in  heavy  chains  .  . 

Until  .   .  a  bearded  face — no  less  ! — 

Suddenly  pushes  and  disengages 

Itself  from  the  fruit  of  the  foremost  tree, — 

A  face  that  palely  and  balefully 

Yet  wrinkles  in  smiles — and  a  gleam  of  glee. 

Proud  and  patrician  shines  his  nose. 

Dagger-like  black  mustachios. 

Dagger-like  heard  has  he! 

Two  black-cloaked  arms  thrust  forth.    The  hands 
Undulate  in  a  rhythm  of  passes. 
Golden-hair  stares.     Her  bright  smile  glasses. 
What  has  this  new  strange  fear  to  do 
With  her  brief  swift  joy.^     She  understands 
Nothing,  and  sinks  her  aching  forehead 
Before  that  devil's  gestures  horrid.  .   . 

[67  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
And  all  the  crimson  and  golden  flames 
Of  all  three  trees,  at  a  Name  of  Names 
Whispered  beneath  her  breath, — burn  blue! 


First  Interlude 

The  blue  light  spreads  and  shimmers,  and  the  large 
green  double  gateway 

Of  the  garden  straightway  glimmers  in  a  spotlight  fierce 
and  white. 

Trees  and  house  are  thrown  in  shade,  all  else  fades, — 
the  sight  is  centred 

On  those  gates  wherethrough  first  entered  in  our  Villain 
of  a  Night. 

Now  they  softly  swing  ajar. 

Silver-glinting  like  a  star. 

Though  his  armor's  only  pasteboard,  from  peaked  shoe 
to  vizor-bar. 

Out  there  bounces — with  the  flounces  of  his  Hobby- 
horse a  shaking — 

Aye,  with  helmet,  spear,  and  plume,  from  that  garden's 
inner  gloom, 

A  mediaeval  warrior  .  .  and  few  the  steps  he's  taking 

Ere  a  Cook,  all  costumed  yellow  from  his  chef-like  cap 
aflap  to  his  apron, — yes,  a  fellow  of  much  culi- 
nary art, — 

Follows  quickly,  smiling  sickly,  with  his  black-browed 
eyes  a  snap,  and  his  hand  upon  his  heart. 

[  68  ] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
In  his  left  hand — such  a  deft  hand ! — while  his  face  in 

mock-disgust 
Wrinkles  strangling^  he  is  dangling,  well — for  bear  the 

sight  you  must ! — 
One  green  fsh,  as  dead's  a  nail, 
Though  he  makes  it  flap  its  tail 
By  a  twitch 
Of  his  wrist,  .   . 
As  the  knight  goes  strutting  by 
It  is   swung  against  his   open  helm,   and   slaps   him  in 

the  eye, — which 
Beastly  candor  fires  the  dander  of  Sir  Knight  indeed. 

Oh,  Lord, 
There  he  draws  his  pasteboard  sword !  .  . 
But    the    Cook,    his    fish    back-snatching,    through    a 

magnifying  glass 
Scans    its    scales,    and    once    more    scans  .  .  while    the 

Knight,  in  ire  a  prance. 
Makes  an  ineffective  pass. 
Then   the    Knight   more    strongly    pounces.  .  .  On    the 

flounces  chintzy-gay 
With  which  his  Hobby's  hung 
Small  bright-ribboned  sachet-bags  bearing  many  curious 

tags 
Like   "Sweetness,"   "Pureness,"   "Sentiment,"   are  mar- 

velously  strung. 
As  that  livid  fish  he  catches  on  his  spear-point,  in  the 

fray. 
Some    of    these    he    quickly    snatches    to    his    pommel. 

Kneeling  down 

[69] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
(While  Cook  goggles  like  a  clown) 
See,  he  lays  the  fish  away 
All  embalmed  in  bright  sachet, 

In  those  bags  of  bright  sachet !    Then  he  rises  to  pursue 
The  Cook,  and  through  the  gateway  straightway  both 
elude  the  view! 

And  now  our  lovely  Lady  in  her  open  card-house  case- 
ment 

Floats  bach  within  our  vision.  She  is  starting,  half- 
awake. 

But  the  Tree's  deep  branches  shake 

And  the  Villain — it  is  he! — 

Makes  more  passes,  one,  two,  three  .  . 

With  her  sobs  her  shoulders  shake 

And  she  shudders  to  abasement.  .  . 

Second  Interlude 

Once  again  the  radiance  leaves  her,  and  the  spot-light 

centres  low 
On  the  garden  gates, — once  more 
Opening  just  enough  to  show 
A    green    dragon    who    comes    crawling    through    their 

gap, — and,  as  before. 
Forth  there  plunges  with  wild  lunges  at  this  beast,  as 

it  emerges. 
That  same  pasteboard  Knight,  who  urges 
His  valanced,  piebald  pony 
Until  the  combat  surges 

[70] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
And  clatters.     They  have  scuflBed 
A  space,  when — quite  unruffled, 
And  staggering  up — the  dragon, 
(As  if  some  ribald  crony- 
Were  beseeching)  swiftly  reaching 
In  his  coils, — waves  forth  a  flagon — 
A  frosty-beaded  flagon! 
And  the  Knight 
Drops  his  point. 
Shakes  with  joy  in  every  joint 

And  succumbs  before  the  Tempter,  quite  forgetting  to 
"aroint." 

Yes,  that  pure  chivalric  seeker 
Thrusts  up  vizor — drains  the  beaker! 

And  it  takes  him  with  the  colic 

As  it  should  do — for  of  course 

This  is  equally  symbolic!  .  . 

Dragon  overtilts  his  horse, 

Smiles   a  wide  and  toothy  smile  to  the  audience,   and 

straightway 
By  the  heels  yanks  Knight  and  Hobby-horse  within  the 

closing  gateway ! 


Yet  Her  trance  seems   but  the  brighter,   as   again  the 

scene  grows  lighter 
And  the  trees  blaze  forth  once  more  twice  as  brilliant 

as  before 

[  71  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

And  that  devil  from  the  tree^  with  his  weird  agility, 

Leaps  down  lightly  on  the  wall,  footing  mute  a  sprightly 
dance, — 

See,  our  Lady  rises  slowly,  grasps  the  woven  silken 
ladder. 

Steps  with  grace  upon  the  sill  .  .  (Is  she  bending  to  his 
will. 

She,  the  far-withheld  and  holy?) 

Ah,  his  cloak  is  blowing,  showing  the  false  black  har- 
monics twined 

On  the  silk  with  which  it's  lined!  It  is  waving  in  a 
madder 

Far  more  evil  weaving  fashion!  .  .  In  his  hand  a  gold 
guitar 

Glitters  now,  as  down  he  leaps. 

Like  blacJc  wings  his  cloak  downsweeps! 

Light  he  strolls  beneath  her  window,  thrumming,  hum- 
ming half  a  bar. 

Down  the  silken  strands  she  trembles,  step  by  step,  a 
fallen  star! 

She  wavers.     In  his  gratitude 
He  strikes  a  sprightly  attitude. 
Much  old  romantic  platitude 
He  genuflects  and  gestures. 
Then,  swiftly  and  in  passion — 
And  a  very  different  fashion — 

He  hurls  his  music  from  him,  he  sweeps  in  all  her  ves- 
tures 

[  72  ] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
The  Lady  from  the  ladder  to  his  shoulder.     Swift  as 

light 
He's  before  the  gateS;,  within  them,  and  they  close  upon 

the  sight, — 
Till,  as  swift,  and  past  our  hoping, 
Lo,  he  reappears  alone ! 

From  a  pocket  of  his  cloak  he  turns  in  the  locks 
A  big  brass  key.  .  .  Then  up  he  leaps  and  rocks 
With  green  evil  silent  mirth  on  the  wall's  white  coping 
Of  moon-washed  stone ! 

His  tongue  licks  his  cheek,  an  index-finger  steals 
Pointing  to  the  Card  House,  as  he  kicks  his  heels. 
With  laughter  he  is  weak.     He  counts  in  pantomime 
Coins  into  his  palm.     (More  crime?    More  crime?) 
He   streams   shadow-money  through   his   fingers,   yards 

and  yards; 
And  he  gestures  toward  the  cellar  of  the  moonlit  House 

of  Cards. 

As  I  feared. 
He's  disappeared 
Down  behind  the  wall. 

And  now  the  jewelled  proud 
Trees    in    the    background    are    extinguished.      Like    a 

shroud 
The  houghs  of  the  hig  tree  burn  with  only  dim 
Blue  lights.     The  Moon's  face,  in  heaven  high  a  swim. 
Takes   a   wan  pained  look,   through   a   scud   of   murky 

cloud. 

[  73  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Third  Interlude 

From  the  right,  in  a  litter  of  shoddy  glitter  and  cheap 

gimcrackery,  borne  by  lackeys, 
Beneath   the   wall — funereal — enter   The    Smiler,   stout 

and  bland! 
In  a  high  silk  hat  and  a  cream-colored  vest  with  a  great 

gold  chain,  he  lolls  in  his  nest 
Of  rugs  and  cushions ;  and,  like  a  sack,  he's  creased  and 

protuberant.     Each  fat  hand 
Sticks  up  from  billows  of  sofa-pillows  and  soft  suave 

cushions.     How  ringed  they  are 
With  jewels!     Each  holds  a  black  cigar  winking  at  tip 

with  a  faint  red  star.  .  . 
They  set  him  down  before  the  gates,  and  each  lackey 

bows — and  each  lackey  waits. 
His  heavy  jowls,  his  flabby  lips,  his  whole  small  soul 

in  complete  eclipse. 
His  little  swine  eyes  and  his  puffy  chins — must  conjure 

forth  sighs  as  well  as  grins. 

And  slowly  out  of  the  wings  defile  a  foredoomed  crew 
to  face  his — Smile. 

First  comes  the  Poet,  black- velvet  clad  in  doublet  and 

hose,  with  ink-horn  swung 
At  girdle, — a  tow-headed  likely  lad  of  ruddy  cheeks  and 

a  smile  still  young. 
He  bows  to  the  Smiler,  unrolls  his  scroll,  and  declaims — 

in  silence — his  passionate  ire. 
Reshaping  the  world  to  his  soul's  desire.  .  . 

[  74  ] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
The  Smiler  shakes  through  all  his  girth  and  swings  his 

cigar  to  his  rhythmic  mirth. 
The  Poet  starts  back  in  hot  despair,  swears  blue  murder 

and  tears  his  hair. 
And  passes  on  .  . 

Next  comes  the  Preacher 
Round-collared  in  black.     He  points  above, 
He  bangs  on  a  book, — his  every  feature  works  with  a 

passionate  plea  for  love. 
The  Smiler  motions  him  brusquely  to  pass,  with  a  silent 

guffaw  at  his  pale  "Alas !" 

Third  of  the  Suitors,  a  man  with   sacks   of  soil.     He 

plunges  one  hand  in  each. 
And  holds  them  high.     The  one  word  "Tax"  flares  black 

from  his  smock.     In  lieu  of  speech. 
He  shakes  two  green  sods  in  the  Smiler's  face.    But  the 

other  simply  doubles  in  glee. 
And  at  last,  controlling  one  mad  grimace,  jabs  "On!", 

with  his  thumb,  to  number  Three. 

And  now   a   fourth   Suitor   meets   the   sight,   with   firm 

strong  features  and  eyes  alight. 
He  presents  a  small  white  platform  set  with  many  a 

dream-tower's    minaret. 
But  based  on  the  close-knit  stones  of  fact.     Offhand  he 

salutes  with  more  zest  than  tact 
The   plethoric   Smiler, — and   displays   his   model   white 

dream,  shows  the  many  ways 

[  75  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

Each  ceiling  and  floor  and  window  and  door  works  in 
that  house — how  every  cell 

Of  the  caravansery  takes  the  sun — and  a  thousand 
smaller  details  as  well. 

Indeed,,  as  you  see  him  rate  and  list  'em,  from  State- 
ownership  to  the  plumbing-system, 

It  all  seems  very  neatly  done. 

"But  the  Smiler  simply  bellows  with  mirth,  and  promptly 
orders  him  off  the  Earth. 

So,  suddenly  next,  with  a  smoky  torch  furious  crimson, 

and  fit  to  scorch 
Earth  and  sky, — and  a  rolling  eye  and  naked  torso  and 

maniac  cry. 
With  a  red  scarf  knotted  about  his  head  and  overalls 

splashed  and  streaked  with  red. 
In   rushes — no   Suitor! — but   some  man-brute,   or   some 

devil  arraigning  his  hoggish  tutor.  .   . 
Yet  the  Smiler  simply  claps  hand  on  hand,  chuckling, 

and  at  that  quick  command 
Two  coal-black  slaves  each  tall  as  a  tower,  one  hung 

with  coins,  one  crowned  with  power. 
Leap  on  the  rebel  from  the  rear,  tread  out  his  torch,  and 

then,  with  a  leer 
Shackle  him  fast.  .  .  The  lackeys  raise  their  litter.   .  . 

The  Smiler  rocks  and  sways 
Kissing  his  hand.     All  disappear. 

[76] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 

And  now,  with  a  ding,  with  a  ding-dong-dang. 

Soft  and  afar  we  hear  a  bell's  harangue: 

Mellow  clang- clang- clang 

From  a  bell,  coming  nearer. 

It  is  clearer.     It  ceases,  and  a  faint  voice  swells 

Sing-song,  like  the  bell's — if  bells  but  sang. 

Oyez,  oyez,   oyez, — a-all's   we-el! 
Oyez,  oyez,  oyez, — a-all's  well! 

Hear  it  swell,  nearer,  clearer, — swell  on  widening 
vibrant  swell ! 

From  the  right,  beneath  the  wall,  a  figure  ambles  with 

a  lantern. 
It  casts  an  orange  circle  on  before. 
His  shoe-buckles  glitter  and  his  cocked  hat  glistens. 
He  raises  a  finger,  and  he  stops  and  listens. 
He  smiles  very  wisely  as  he  tries  and  tests  the  latches 
Of  the  garden-door. 
He  hums  a  bit  by  snatches.  .  . 
His    great-coat    is    bulging    with    yellow    parchment 

packets. 
They  flutter   from  his   pockets  and  bristle   from  his 

j  ackets. 
All  sealed  with  red  sealing-wax.     Of  jackets  half  a 

score 
And  his  great-coat  and  his  hat  he  divests  himself,  and 

rests  him 
On  this  rolled  impromptu  cushion  by  the  garden-door. 

[  77  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
The  chimney  of  the  House  of  Cards  is  shaking  with 

the  ague. 
The   smoke   no  longer  drifts  from   it.     A    head  and 

shoulders  rise 
So  darkly  from  it  suddenly,  so  inchoate  and  vague,  you 
Have  hardly  rubbed  your  eyes,  when  a  figure  of  sur- 
prise 
Worms  forth  erect,  with   bottle-brush,  and  crouches 

on  the  ridgepole 
And  listens.     Then,  cautiously,  all  black,  see  him  lean. 
Slide  inkily  the  sloping  roof  and  drop  before  the  scene. 

Let  my  words  declare  his  wrong,  in 

The  Blackamoor's  Silent  Song 

I  am  wedged  in  the  dark,  in  the  dim. 

In  the  dust,  in  the  heat. 

You  have  said  "Apple-blossoms  are  sweet", 

But  they  are  not  for  him ! 

You  tell  me  that  sunsets  are  splendid. 

They  have  not  befriended 

My  work  in  the  deep-layered  grime 

As  the  chimney  I  climb. 

The  chimney  of  Time 

In  your  delicate,  beautiful  house. 

Your  gay-colored  retreat. 

And,  if  chimneys  let  out  on  the  skies. 
With  the  filth  in  my  eyes 

[  78  1 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
Late  at  night, — with  the  soot  in  my  ears 
And  my  eyes  full  of  tears, 
Stars  are  blurred,  they  are  dizzy  for  me. 
They  are  cruel  to  see.   .  . 
Oh  ye  fortunate,  hearken  the  poor 
Stifled  song  of  a  sad  Blackamoor ! 

In  the  filth,  in  the  soot,  in  the  grime, 

I  am  sin,  I  am  crime; 

And  you  feed  me  the  billowing  smoke 

Of  your  dreams,  while  I  choke; 

And  you  say  that  the  chimney  must  he — 

So  I  see.    So  I  see ! 

But  foul  chimneys  are  frantic  to  cure 

The  despair  of  a  poor  Blackamoor! 

But  our  fires  must  be  kindled,  you  say, — 

Our  meals  cooked  every  day, 

Our  dreams  dreamed  in  the  selfish  old  way,- 

Man,  the  world  is  gay — gay! 

Man,  have  faith, — oh,  be  humble,  repine 

Not  for  jewel  or  vine, — 

Clean  our  chimney,  and  sweat,  and  be  sure 

God  remembers  a  poor  Blackamoor! 

But — I  point  to  that  moon,  and  I  swear 

By  tonight's  fragrant  air, 

I  shall  sit  in  her  Ivory  Chair. 

Since  your  joy  is  my  bitter  despair, 

[  79  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
I  shall  rend,  I  shall  strive,  I  shall  dare ! 
Card-House  folk,  have  a  care ! 
All  the  dirtiness  man  may  endure 
Has  been  fed  to  this  poor  Blackamoor ! 


He  is  a  limber  lad  indeed,  for  all  the  soot  he  shows. 
He  capers  in  the  moonlight,  sets  a  finger  by  his  nose. 
And  steals  to  where  the  sleeping  watchman  snores  in 

golden  doze. 
He  tries   the   door.      'Tis   locked.      But  is   his   venture 

blocked  } 
Ah  no!     He  filches  craftily,  while  the  sleeper  twitches 

dreamfully,  his  ponderous  and  golden  key. 
He  turns  it  in  the  channels.     Right!     The  gate  swings 

inward  on — the  night! 
Black  velvet  night,  with  whispering  leaves.  .  .  But  what 

is  this  we  see? 
To  the  tall  and  moon-etched  trunk  of  that  overhanging 

tree. 
As  the  gates  are  opened  wide. 
For  the  first  time  and  the  last, 
And    the    spotlight    seeks    and    finds    her — there's    our 

golden  girl — bound  fast. 
Hair  dishevelled — there — inside! 
And  the  web-work  that  enwinds  her  is  a  maze  of  colored 

ribbons  tightly  bound,  but  strong  as  steel. 
They  are  twisted  neck  to  ankles.     Round  the  trunk  they 

wrap  and  reel. 

[  80  ] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
Down  the  Blackamoor  drops,  distraught, 
On  his  knees;  and,  frenzied  then, 
In  the  agony  of  his  thought. 
Leaps  outside  and  in  again, — 
Fears  to  touch  her, — suddenly 
Clasps  his  arms  around — the  tree, 
And  uproots  it! 

In  an  instant  (here  the  kettledrums  should  thunder) 
Pale  blue  flames  shoot  up  from  under  and  the  branches 

wither  blackly. 
Yet,  though  ribbon-bonds  fall  slackly, — prone  our  Lady 
sinks,  a  faint. 

Then  the  Blackamoor,  anguish-shaken,  easing  down  the 

withered  tree. 
Wildly  and  amazedly 
Bends  and  listens  o'er  his  saint. 
Rushes  forth  by  wit  forsaken. 
Cracks  his  knuckles  furiously, 
And,  as  now  he  gestures  madder. 
Suddenly  sights  the  silken  ladder 
From  the  open  Card-House  window — scuds  across  and 

climbs  its  strands 
Jerking  nervous  feet  and  hands. 
Rubs  his  chin 
And  enters  in.  .  . 

The  red  shutters  clap  behind  him   .  .  and  the  caterwauls 

begin! 
Inner  riot  shakes  those  shutters. 

[  81  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

Watchman  wakens  all  a  pout. 
Sits  up  slowly,  blinks  in  doubt, 
Listens,  raises  both  his  eyebrows  as  to  say,  "What's 

this  about?". 
And    carefully    and    prayerfully    puts    on    his    many 

jackets. 
And  stolidly  and  solidly  restores  his  red-taped  packets 
To  each  capacious  pocket,  takes  his  lantern,  throws 

the  chest  of  him — 
Or  his  hummock  of  a  stomach  that  projects  beyond 

the  rest  of  him — 
And,  waddling  with  dignity,  he  reaches  up  and  raps 
At  those  shutters. 

Immediate  each  scarlet  shutter  claps 
Widely    open.      In   striped   night-cap    and    a    wildly 

whiskered  face 
The  Proprietor  appears,  furious  crimson  to  the  ears, — 
And  he  holds  the  Blackamoor  by  a  clutch  both  fierce 

and  sure 

In  disgrace! 

Oh  their   gestures   and  grimaces,   oh   the   faces   that 

they  make ! 
If  they  only  were  to  talk  it,  every  soul  would  start 

awake 
In   that    strange    and   eerie    country.      Ah,   but    see! 
While  still  they  wrangle. 

Bicker  and  objurgate  and  jangle. 
Quite   revived,   our   lovely   Lady   suddenly   lifts   her 
golden  head 

[82  ] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
In  the  garden.     Next — she's  sped 
Through  the  gates.  .  .  Each  garden-bed — 
Circles,  oblongs,  squares  or  crescents — 
Weirdly  writhes  with  phosphorescence; 
And  she  just  has  time  to  start 
Against  one  wall,  with  arms  outspread. 
When — the  Villain  comes  prancing  out 
With  green  baleful  looks  that  dart. 
And  behold !  beneath  his  cloak 
Close  he  hugs — the  Bags  of  Gold 
From  the  well-stored  Card  House  cellar  (Oh  it's  time 

that  you  were  told!) 
But  he  pales  with  horrid  doubt 
In  a  fit  that  seems  to  choke, 
Which  is  lovely  to  behold! 

From    the    window,    mouthing    vainly    and    insanely, 

fever-shooJc, 
See    the    Blackamoor — pointing,    panting.      Then    at 

last — at  last  they  look! 

But  the  watchman's  hardly  agile,  and  a  woman's  grip 

is  fragile. 
Our  dagger-bearded  Villain  plunges  snarling  from  the 

scene. 
Though  he  drops  a  tithe  of  treasure,  what  he  takes  is 

past  all  measure. 
So  at  least  thinks  night-capped  Father  by  his  show 

of  frantic  spleen ! 

[83  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
The  Watchman  is  nonplussed.    He  gapes  and  he  feels 
For  all  of  his  packets  in  all  of  his  pockets. 
He  studies  their  text^  and  he  studies  their  seals. 
He  turns  to  the  law  on  Purloining  of  Lockets. 
He  turns  to  the  ordinance,  penalties  stating 
For  Eating  and  Sleeping  by  those  without  rating 
In  one  of  the  Blue  Books.     He  turns  to  the  section 
Of  Forfeits  and  Fines  for  a  Mood  of  Dejection. 
And  at  last  he  draws  forth  his  old  pair  of  horn  glasses 
And  sits  down  to  read,  open-minded  and  bland, 
The  procedure  laid  down  by  the  law  of  the  land, 
Quite  remote  and  unmoved  by  dull  time  as  it  passes, 
But  grumbling  perforce  at  the  mad  "lower  classes." 

The  Blackamoor,  freed  by  the  Father  grown  frantic. 
Has  slid  down  the  ladder.  .  .  He  bends  on  one  knee 
To  the  Girl  still  quite  wan  with  her  struggle  upon 
The  escape  of  the  Villain.     And  yet  she's  romantic 
Enough,  'spite  her  tactical  grasp  of  the  practical. 
Brightly  to  blush  at  his  beautiful  plea. 
He  has  won  her  at  once.     Did  he  not  set  her  free? 
From  that  prisoning  tree? 
Oh  rapture !     Rej  oice ! 

And  now,  finding  his  voice. 

For  the  one  word  spoken 

On-stage — the  whole  weird  silence  is  broken 

By  the  Blackamoor's  "Pouf!",  as  he  whirls,  and  flings 

A  fist  toward  the  House  of  Cards. 

[  84  ] 


THE  BLACKAMOOR'S  PANTOMIME 
The  night-capped  Proprietor's  head  disappears. 
The  whole  bright  structure  totters  and  swings, 
And  flatly  about  his  astonished  ears 
Tumbles  to  gaudy  shards. 

Only  the  chimney,  that  drove  right  through 
That  edifice  gilded  and  builded  askew 
Upthrusts  in  the  moonlight  staunch  and  black. 
And,  bowing  again,  the  Chimney- jack 
Points  to  its  fire-place  base,  which  seems 
(In  this  land  of  dreams)  like  a  golden  door 
That  opens  inward.  .  . 

Out  of  the  core 
Of  the  chimney-hreast,  a  Beautiful  Thing 
In  soft  silver  drest,  and  with  either  wing 
Of  glittering,  dazzling  pearl. 
Suddenly  stands 
With  outstretched  hands 
And  becJcons  the  happy  BlacJcamoor 
To  enter  in  through  that  shining  door 
With  his  glorious  golden  girl! 


[  85  ] 


MAD  BLAKE 

Blake  saw  a  treefull  of  angels  at  Peckham  Rye^ 

And  his   hands   could  lay  hold   on   the  tiger's   terrible 

heart. 
Blake  knew  how  deep  is  Hell,  and  Heaven  how  high. 
And  could  build  the  universe  from  one  tiny  part. 
Blake  heard  the  asides  of  God,  as  with  furrowed  brow 
He   sifts   the   star-streams   between  the   Then   and  the 

Now, 
In  vast  infant  sagacity  brooding,  an  infant's  grace 
Shining  serene  on  his  simple,  benignant  face. 

Blake  was  mad,  they  say, — and  Space's  Pandora-box 
Loosed  its  wonders  upon  him — devils,  but  angels  indeed. 
I,  they  say,  am  sane,  but  no  key  of  mine  unlocks 
One  lock  of  one  gate  wherethrough  Heaven's  glory  is 

freed. 
And  I  stand  and  I  hold  my  breath,  daylong,  yearlong. 
Out  of  comfort   and  easy  dreaming  evermore   starting 

awake, — 
Yearning  beyond  all  sanity  for  some  echo  of  that  Song 
Of  Songs  that  was  sung  to  the  soul  of  the  madman, 

Blake! 


[  86  ] 


JALDABAOTH 

[There  is  a  third  person  in  a  Gnostic  Creation  legend  from 
which  the  name  of  my  demiurge  is  derived.  The  true  legend — 
a  snake-worshipping  one — has  it  that  Darkness,  the  Father 
of  all,  begot  a  daughter,  the  Wisdom  of  God,  who  knew  Life; 
the  son  of  her  agony  being  Jaldavaoth,  the  god  who  creates. 
He  creates  the  world  of  the  body,  a  clumsy  imitation  of  the 
world  of  the  Spirit,  etc.  But  the  only  borrowing  from  this 
legend  has  been  the  name  of  my  protagonist.  This  is  an 
entirely  dissimilar  imaginative  attempt.] 

In  a  yeast  of  fire-flecked  mist 

Beyond  the  paths  of  the  planets 

Strove  Jaldabaoth,  the  strong  Angel,  the  son  of  Chaos. 

In  that  terrible,  trembling  abyss  of  the  Divine  Nature 

In  whose  pleroma  the  sage  Heracleon 

Saw  emanating  aeons — assigned  and  ordered 

Subordinate  gods — 

Time  was  but  faint  effulgence, 

Scarcely  a  tremor  in  the  ether. 

Psyche,  the  sensuous  soul. 

Was  lost  in  the  palpitant  pneuma 

That  quivered  like  heat  round  a  flame,  where  Jaldabaoth 

Wrestled  with  Chaos, 

Kneading  and  shaping  and  moulding 

And  working  and  welding  a  world 

Out  of  the  ether, 

[  87  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
From  the  negation  of  matter, 
Alone  in  the  wreathing,  seething,  monstrous  mist. 
Alone. 

Terrible  trembling  and  shuddering  shook  the  abyss, 
Like  the  rumbling  hollow  drums  of  brute  barbarians 
Thudded  instant  in  repetition,  purring  to  thunder. 
Breaking  and  booming  and  roaring  high  to  a  crepitant 

crash 
And  a  dazzling  lightning  flash. 

With  billows  of  purple  smoke,  rolling  to  inky  storm. 
Following  after. 

Then  far  and  faint  came  laughter, 
Tricklings  of  infinite  laughter. 
Thin  streams  of  molten  silver  scattering  down 
Through  the  heavy  heaven  of  cloud, — 
Remote  and  ironic  laughter. 

Yet  still  strove  Jaldabaoth,  demiurge  divine. 

The  strong  Angel,  the  son  of  Chaos, — 

Grappling  the  clotted  and  fluid  cloud  to  his  breast. 

Gripping  with  bulging-muscled  enormous  thighs 

The   cloud-stuff   to   him — striving  and   struggling  with 

cloud 
Even  as  Ixion,  saith  legend,  begat  the  centaurs 
When  Juno  slipped  from  her  white  and  cumulous  sem- 
blance 
Back  to  the  shining  gates. 
Back  to  the  laughter-clanging  golden  gates 

[  88] 


JALDABAOTH 
Leaving  her  bronze-thewed  lover  frenziedly  clinging  her 

image, 
Clasping  celestial  cheat. 

Horns  in  the  heaven. 

Flaring  horns  of  scorn  from  the  corners  of  heaven 

Wound  wire-cruel  sound 

And  i5erce  flagellation 

Round  the  soul  of  Jaldabaoth. 

But  in  his  arms 

As  clay  is  kneaded  and  worked 

A  world  took  form. 

Then  the  strong  Angel 

Stooped  'neath  his  feet  for  a  fiery  sun, 

Shattered  it  'twixt  the  gripe  of  his  fingers,  let  fall 

The  glistering,  glowing  fragments  in  midst  of  his  world, 

Strewing  the  shards  as  a  man  sows  seed, — 

Scattering  them. 

And  again. 

And  again 

He  kneaded  and  worked  his  world  between  his  knees 

Till  his  eyes  were  blind  with  sweat. 

Jaldabaoth 

Flung  forth  one  arm,  and  snatched  a  golden  web 

Of  glimmering  stars  out  of  the  misty  abyss. 

And  crushed  them  to  paste  against  the  arch  of  his  thigh 

[  89] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
And  powdered  them  to  fine  dust  beneath  his  heel 
And  mixed  them  into   the   spinning  maelstrom   of   his 

world, 
And  his  world  quickened  and  twirled  and  shaped  toward 

a  sphere. 

His  world  convulsed,  and  flickered  with  gaseous  fumes. 
And  flared  into  flame. 

And  Jaldabaoth  drenched  it  with  hissing  mist. 

His  world  flung  off  planet  on  planet 
Like  smoke-rings  or  bubbles  blown. 
They  spun  in  eccentric  orbits.  .  .     Centring  them  all 
The  coagulate  matter  dwindled  and  dwindled  to  throb- 
bing pulses 
Of  rosy  or  crimson  embers, 
And  so  diminished 
Into  a  central  sun 
Of  quivering  heat  and  light. 

And  that  first  sun  cooled,  and  the  planets  clanged  in 

anger. 
And  hissed  in  mist — and  another  glowing  sun 
Swam  forth,  and  other  orbits  ellipsed  its  Space. 

Jaldabaoth  was  resting. 

He  squatted  on  sinewy  heels  above  his  world 

Of  little  silver  planets  and  golden  suns — 

[  90  ] 


JALDABAOTH 
And  infinitesimal  gems  of  sapphire  water 
Winking  back  from  some  turning  sphere. 

He  had  not  yet  made  Man. 

His  agate  eyes  were  full  of  the  lack  .  .  but  behind  him 
Came  God,  as  one  walks  in  a  garden,  and  laid  his  touch 
On  his  shoulder.  And  the  flame-haired  head  flung  back 
And  Jaldabaoth  looked  into  the  eyes  of  God. 

And  God  breathed  on  his  Angel's  world. 

Making  Man. 

And  God  drew  blue  skies  like  the  folds  of  a  cloak  about 

his  face 
And  trod  once  more  on  his  rounds  of  Eternity 
To  the  next  white  outpost  of  the  next  demiurge. 

Then  languor  and  idleness  came  on  that  strong  Angel. 
Centuries  passed  as  he  slowly  turned  on  his  side 
And  stretched  luxuriously, 
For  he  was  weary. 

And  then  first  on  his  eyes  he  was  'ware  of  a  prickling 

and  tingling 
And  then  a  tremor  that  startled  through  all  his  being, 
A  tremor  he  could  not  still. 
His  lazy  lids  opened.     He  peered  through  cloud  on  his 

world. 
It  spun  in  its  Space  like  small  and  rhythmic  sound. 

[  91  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Yet  something  like  a  fizzing  of  very  tiny  flies 
Perturbed  its  whirl. 


And  again  the  pricking  and  tingling  through  the  being 
Of  Jaldabaoth. 


For  upon  its  smallest  of  planets,  on  one  of  the  tiniest 

islands. 
The  first,  fur-skinned,  flint-axed  Doubter  had  whispered 

"Why?" 

Then  Jaldabaoth  was  wroth,  and  he  sent  a  plague  and 

an  earthquake. 
And  the  voice  was  still. 

And  the  Angel  sank  back,  and  slumbered,  and  centuries 
passed. 

Again  the  prickling  and  tingling. 

More  irritant  now,  more  and  more  insistent.   .   . 

Cities  were  spread  on  one  planet.     In  one  of  the  cities 

A  scientist  in  an  infinitesimal  laboratory 

Laid  his  weary  forehead  down  'mid  a  stench  of  bubbling 

test-tubes 
And  shuddered  "Why?" 
And  out  of  the  alleys  of  cities 
Oppression  and  extortion  and  filth  and  famine 
Fumed  upward  "Why?" — and  in  a  house  of  healing 

[  93  ] 


JALDABAOTH 
A  surgeon  with  baffled  scalpel  above  a  twisted  wreck 

half-human, 
That  his  work  had  saved  to  life,  cursed  coldly,  "Why  ?'* 
A  farmer's  wife  scanning  an  empty  prairie 
Echoed  his  thought. 

A  clerk  at  his  desk,  a  doughty  general  dying. 
In  half-delirium,  played  with  the  answerless  question. 
Youth  and  age  and  houses  of  death  and  birth 
And  camp  and  court  and  land  and  sea  unceasing 
Reiterated  the  word  in  many  tongues. 

"Is  there  a  God.>    Who  is  our  God,  and  Why? 
What  is  this  life.^    And  Why?" 

Jaldabaoth,  rousing,  gazed  at  his  world 

With  wild  new  wonder  .  . 

And,  as  he  gazed,  his  gaze 

Grew  microscopic,  and  centred  upon  one  city 

Set  in  the  midst  of  a  planet,  and  on  one  house 

Set  in  the  midst  of  that  city,  and  on  one  room 

In  the  house,  and  the  smiling  face  of  the  man  in  that 

room. 
The  smile  was  not  good  to  see. 

The  man  sat  at  a  desk  littered  with  papers, 
A  pen  in  his  hand. 

The  man's  lip  curled,  as  he  said: 

"God  or  no  God,  I  had  made  a  better  world. 

God  or  no  God,  I  defy  you,  I  blaspheme  you. 

[  93  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
All  has  been  taken  from  me  except  one  thing 
My  hate  of  you. 

Your  priesthood  is  great — for  all  men  are  afraid. 
But  I  am  not  afraid. 

I  am  the  least  of  atoms  in  your  bad  universe, 
Urged  to  obey  your  laws. 
Fed  with  fancies,  creating  superstitions, 
Cheating  and  killing  each  other. 
Juggling  their  Justice  and  Sunday  Righteousness, 
Clutching,  snarling  and  denying. 

Your  'children'  swarm  on  this  planet,  and  crawl  to  Fear. 
But  I  am  not  afraid. 

Visit  me  now  with  sudden  and  visible  torture, 
Kill  me  slowly  in  one  of  your  sweet  and  infinite 
Tortures  reserved  for  the  brave. 
Shred  me  between  your  fingers  now  or  soon. 
After  your  high  and  holy  Godlike  fashion; 
Set  me  riddles,  and  kill  that  I  cannot  solve  them. 
Damn  the  brain  and  the  heart  you  made  to  beat 
Out  of  your  infinite  mercy.  .  . 
I  am  not  afraid. 
I  hate  you,  I  blaspheme  you!" 

The  earth-creature's  brain  sucked  down  the  very  soul 
Of  Jaldabaoth,  and  laughed  and  mocked  in  its  light. 

And  the  son  of  Chaos  looked  on  his  son  of  chaos 
And  saw  no  fear. 

Then  Jaldabaoth  was  afraid. 

[  94  ] 


JALDABAOTH 
With  a  vast  and  terrible  wrench  he  freed  his  eyes 
And  his   soul   from  the  eyes   and  soul   of   the   earthly 

brain.  .  . 
And  the  form  of  the  man  on  earth  swayed  in  his  chair 
And  sprawled  to  the  floor  in  death. 

But  fixed  in  the  being  of  Jaldabaoth,  he  became 

A  troubling  mote^,  a  stinging  vexation  of  spirit. 

So  the  strong  Angel  rose,  and  staggered,  and  reeled 

Through   the   terrible,   trembling   abyss    of   the    Divine 

Nature, 
To  find  God. 

But  God  was  with  His  Angel  as  a  vast  and  invisible 

power 
That  knew  his  questions :    "Why  have  You  made  us  then 
To  make  such  toys  ?"  and  "These  toys  are  terrible, 
A  vengeance,  a  sharp  disaster !"  and,  worst  of  all, 
"I   have   miscreated!      Fiends,   we    are    fiends,    we    are 

fiends !" 

The  eyes  of  the  Angel  dilated  and  diminished 

With  blazing  torture,  the  ether  shuddered  around  him. 

He  whirled  on  his  steps  as  if  to  strive  with  God. 

But  God  was  both  near  and  remote,  and  could  not  be 
grasped. 

Then  down  in  utter  agony,  Jaldabaoth 

Sank,  and  the  darkness  was  sick  with  his  horrible  tears. 

[  95  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
And  over  and  over  again 
"What  is  this  Life  we  have  played  with!"  he  sobbed 

and  sobbed. 
"What  is  this  Life— and  Why?" 

Then  speaking  in  perfect  silence  God  answered,  saying: 

"You  too  are  only  a  thought  within  my  brain, 

A  figment  of  my  fancy, 

A  thing  contrived. 

But  that  which  is  created  in  my  fancy, 

A  part  of  my  thought. 

Can  never  die,  but  must  have  eternal  life. 

For  I  am  eternal,  awfully  eternal. 

And  there  is  no  end. 

But  my  thought  had  pity  on  me, 

And  it  made  for  me  metes  and  bounds,  and  anger  and 

tears. 
And  joy  and  sorrow  .  . 

And  aeons,  and  angels,  and  men  to  rejoice  and  despair. 
I  am  the  father  of  all,  unutterably  lonely. 
Save  for  my  thoughts  that  are  ye. 
Ye  all  are  stored  in  my  memory  that  is  Heaven, 
There  shall  ye  rest. 

But  while  ye  are  my  thoughts  ye  can  have  no  rest. 
For    my    Thought    is    forever    the    drudge    of    timeless 

time.   .   . 
But  when  my  own  thought  sickens,  I  seek  for  a  new 
Mood  and  manner  of  thought.   .  . 
Therefore  come  rest  in  my  memory,  Jaldabaoth. 
This  mood  of  my  thought  is  done." 

[96] 


JALDABAOTH 
And  the  voice  ceased,  and  the  void  reeled,  and  the  strong 

Angel 
Basked  in  the  retrospect  of  the  infinite  brain. 


[  97  ] 


HOW  TO  CATCH  UNICORNS 

Its  cloven  hoofprint  on  the  sand 
Will  lead  you — where? 
Into  a  phantasmagoric  land — 
Beware ! 

There  all  the  bright  streams  run  up-hill. 
The  birds  on  every  tree  are  still. 
But  from  stocks  and  stones  clear  voices  come 
That  should  be  dumb. 

If  you  have  taken  along  a  net, 

A  noose,  a  prod, 

You'll  be  waiting  in  the  forest  yet  .  . 

Nid — nod ! 

In  a  virgin's  lap  the  beast  slept  sound, 
They  say  .  .  but  I — but  I — 
I  think  (Is  anyone  around?) 
That's  just  a  lie! 

If  you  have  taken  a  musketoon 
To  flinders  'twill  flash  'neath  the  wizard  moon. 
So  I  should  take  browned  batter-cake. 
Hot-buttered  inside,  like  foam  to  flake. 

[  98  ] 


HOW  TO  CATCH  UNICORNS 
And  I  should  take  an  easy  heart 
And  a  whimsical  face, 

And  a  tied-up  lunch  of  sandwich  and  tart. 
And  spread  a  cloth  in  the  open  chase. 

And  then  I  should  pretend  to  snore. 

And  I'd  hear  a  snort,  and  I'd  hear  a  roar. 
The  wind  of  a  mane  and  a  tail,  and  four 
Wild  hoofs  prancing  the  forest-floor. 

And  I'd  open  my  eyes  on  a  flashing  horn — 
And  see  the  Unicorn ! 

Paladins  fierce  and  virgins  sweet  .  . 

But  he's  never  had  anything  to  eat! 

Knights  have  tramped  in  their  iron-mong'ry  .  , 

But  nobody  thought — that's  all! — he's  hungry! 


Addendum 

Really  hungry !    Good  Lord  deliver  us, 
The  Unicorn  is  not  carnivorous! 


[  99  ] 


THE  HORSE  THIEF 

There    he    moved,    cropping   the    grass    at    the    purple 
canyon's  lip. 
His  mane  was  mixed  with  the  moonlight  that  silvered 
his  snow-white  side, 
For  the  moon  sailed  out  of  a  cloud  with  the  wake  of  a 
spectral  ship. 
I  crouched  and  I  crawled  on  my  belly,  my  lariat  coil 
looped  wide. 

Dimly  and  dark  the  mesas  broke  on  the  starry  sky. 
A  pall  covered  every  color  of  their  gorgeous  glory  at 
noon. 
I. smelt  the  yucca  and  mesquite,  and  stifled  my  heart's 
quick  cry. 
And  wormed  and  crawled  on  ray  belly  to  where  he 
moved  against  the  moon! 

Some  Moorish  barb  was  that  mustang's  sire.     His  lines 
were  beyond  all  wonder. 
From  the  prick  of  his  ears  to  the  flow  of  his  tail  he 
ached  in  my  throat  and  eyes. 
Steel  and  velvet  grace!     As  the  prophet  says,  God  had 
"clothed  his  neck  with  thunder." 
Oh,   marvelous    with    the    drifting    cloud    he    drifted 
across  the  skies ! 

[  100  ] 


THE  HORSE  THIEF 
And  then  I  was  near  at  hand — crouched,  and  balanced, 
and  cast  the  coil; 
And  the  moon  was  smothered  in  cloud,  and  the  rope 
through  my  hands  with  a  rip ! 
But  somehow  I  gripped  and  clung,  with  the  blood  in  my 
brain  a  boil, — 
With  a  turn  round  the  rugged  tree-stump  there  on  the 
purple  canyon's  lip. 

Right  into  the  stars  he  reared  aloft,  his  red  eye  rolling 
and  raging. 
He  whirled  and  sunfished  and  lashed,  and  rocked  the 
earth  to  thunder  and  flame. 
He  squealed  like  a  regular  devil  horse.     I  was  haggard 
and  spent  and  aging — 
Roped  clean,  but  almost  storming  clear,  his  fury  too 
fierce  to  tame. 

And  I  cursed  myself  for  a  tenderfoot  moon-dazzled  to 
play  the  part. 
But   I    was    doubly    desperate   then,   with   the    posse 
pulled  out  from  town. 
Or  I'd  never  have  tried  it.     I  only  knew  I  must  get  a 
mount  and  a  start. 
The  filly  had  snapped  her  foreleg  short.     I  had  had  to 
shoot  her  down. 

So  there  he  struggled  and  strangled,  and  I  snubbed  him 
around  the  tree. 

I  101  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Nearer,   a   little   nearer — hoofs   planted,    and   lolling 
tongue — 
Till  a  sudden  slack  pitched  me  backward.     He  reared 
right  on  top  of  me. 
Mother   of   God — that   moment!      He   missed   me  .  . 
and  up  I  swung. 

Somehow,  gone  daft  completely  and  clawing  a  bunch  of 
his  mane, 
As   he  stumbled  and  tripped  in  the  lariat,  there   I 
was — up  and  astride 
And  cursing   for   seven   counties!      And  the   mustang? 
Just  insane! 
Crack-bang!    went   the    rope;    we    cannoned    off    the 
tree — then — gods,  that  ride ! 

A  rocket — that's  all,  a  rocket !    I  dug  with  my  teeth  and 
nails. 
Why,  we  never  hit  even  the  high   spots    (though   I 
hardly  remember  things), 
But   I   heard  a   monstrous   booming  like   a  thunder   of 
flapping  sails 
When    he    spread — well,    call    me    a   liar! — when   he 
spread  those  wings,  those  wings ! 

So  white  that  my  eyes  were  blinded,  thick-feathered  and 
wide  unfurled. 
They  beat  the  air  into  billows.     We  sailed,  and  the 
earth  was  gone. 

[  102  ] 


THE  HORSE  THIEF 
Canyon  and  desert  and  mesa  withered  below,  with  the 
world. 
And  then  I  knew  that  mustang;  for  I — was  Bellero- 
phon! 

Yes,  glad  as  the  Greek,  and  mounted  on  a  horse  of  the 
elder  gods. 
With  never  a  magic  bridle  or  a  fountain-mirror  nigh ! 
My  chaps  and  spurs  and  holster  must  have  looked  it? 
What's  the  odds? 
I'd  a  leg  over  lightning  and  thunder,  careering  across 
the  sky! 

And  forever  streaming  before  me,  fanning  my  forehead 
cool, 
Flowed  a  mane  of  molten  silver;  and  just  before  my 
thighs 
(As  I  gripped  his  velvet-muscled  ribs,  while  I  cursed 
myself  for  a  fool). 
The  steady  pulse  of  those  pinions — their  wonderful 
fall  and  rise! 

The    bandanna    I    bought    in    Bowie    blew    loose    and 
whipped  from  my  neck. 
My  shirt  was  stuck  to  my  shoulders  and  ribboning 
out  behind. 
The  stars  were  dancing,  wheeling  and  glancing,  dipping 
with  smirk  and  beck. 
The  clouds  were  flowing,  dusking  and  glowing.     We 
rode  a  roaring  wind. 

[  103  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
We  soared  through  the  silver  starlight  to  knock  at  the 
planets'  gates. 
New    shimmering   constellations    came   whirling   into 
our  ken. 
Red  stars  and  green  and  golden  swung  out  of  the  void 
that  waits 
For    man's    great    last    adventure;    the    Signs    took 
shape — and  then 

I  knew  the  lines  of  that  Centaur  the  moment  I  saw  him 
come ! 
The  musical  box  of  the  heavens  all  around  us  rolled 
to  a  tune 
That  tinkled  and  chimed  and  trilled  with  silver  sounds 
that  struck  you  dumb, 
As  if  some  archangel  were  grinding  out  the  music  of 
the  moon. 

Melody-drunk   on   the   Milky   Way,   as   we   swept   and 
soared  hilarious. 
Full  in  our  pathway,  sudden  he  stood — the  Centaur 
of  the  Stars, 
Flashing  from  head  and  hoofs  and  breast !     I  knew  him 
for  Sagittarius. 
He  reared,  and  bent  and  drew  his  bow.     He  crouched 
as  a  boxer  spars. 

Flung  back   on   his   haunches,   weird  he   loomed — then 
leapt — and  the  dim  void  lightened. 
Old  White  Wings  shied  and  swerved  aside,  and  fled 
from  the  splendor-shod. 

[  104  ] 


THE  HORSE  THIEF 
Through   a   flashing  welter   of   worlds   we   charged.      I 
knew  why  my  horse  was  frightened. 
He  had  two  faces — a  dog's  and  a  man's — that  Baby- 
lonian god! 

Also,  he  followed  us  real  as  fear.     Ping !  went  an  arrow 
past. 
My     broncho     buck- jumped^     humping     high.       We 
plunged  .   .   I  guess  that's  all ! 
I  lay  on  the  purple  canyon's  lip^  when   I   opened  my 
eyes  at  last — 
Stiff  and  sore  and  my  head  like  a  drum,  but  I  broke 
no  bones  in  the  fall. 

So  you  know — and  now  you  may  string  me  up.     Such 
was  the  way  you  caught  me. 
Thank  you  for  letting  me  tell  it  straight,  though  you 
never  could  greatly  care. 
For  I  took  a  horse  that  wasn't  mine !  .   .  But  there's  one 
the  heavens  brought  me. 
And   I'll   hang   right   happy,   because    I    know   he    is 
waiting  for  me  up  there. 

From  creamy  muzzle  to  cannon-bone,  by   God,  he's   a 
peerless  wonder! 
He  is  steel  and  velvet  and  furnace-fire,  and  death's 
supremest  prize; 
And  never  again  shall  be  roped  on  earth  that  neck  that  is 
"clothed  with  thunder"  .  . 
String  me  up,  Dave !     Go  dig  my  grave !     I  rode  him 
across  the  shies! 

[  105  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

From  Tenderloin  to  Barbary  Coast 

"Red"  Leary  made^  and  backed,  his  boast. 

From  Jersey  City  to  The  Loop 

He  reefed  the  leathers  or  used  "the  soup." 

Safe-cracker,  dipper,  climber,  yegg. 

He  was  one  thorough  rotten  egg 

The  cops  and  flatties  could  not  catch. 

Plain-clothes-men  knew  him  for  their  match. 

The  English  bobbies  failed  to  grapple 
With  what  he  plotted  in  Whitechapel. 
Paris  Apaches  in  their  cellar 
Called  him  the  French  for  "reglar  feller." 
But  footloose  he  must  ever  be. 
And  so  he  wandered  far  and  free. 
Marked  on  the  Little  Black  Book's  page 
By  name  and  alias,  deeds  and  age. 

He  never  "brassed  up"  on  a  dollar 

And  seemed  chimaerical  to  collar. 

Even  bull-buster  on  occasion, 

When  they  had  needed  swift  persuasion, 

Though  he'd  been  mugged  in  youth,  and  measured, 

(A  high  distinction  that  he  treasured !) 

His  stretch  in  Stir  should  never  be — 

"Sooner,  Cell  99 !"  swore  he. 

[  106  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
One  summer,  after  lying  low, 
He  rather  took  a  shine  to  go 
Abroad  once  more,  and,  with  this  notion, 
"Stowed"  over  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
After  adventures  smooth  as  syrup 
He  found  himself  afoot  through  "Yirrup" 
Glad  as  a  lad;  then,  growing  dreamier. 
Lost  himself  somewhere  in  Bohemia. 

Now  in  that  kingdom  there's  a  town 
Which  no  geographies  have  down. 
An  old  lost  town,  given  to  amazing 
Black  art,  and  star-  and  crystal-gazing. 
A  magic  circle  hems  it  round, 
(Perhaps  that's  why  'tis  still  unfound!) 
And  still  'tis  ruled  the  rumor  tells  us 
By  those  who  once  knew  Paracelsus. 

"There  be  twelve  houses  in  the  skies," 

Say  these  graybeards,  toothy-wise. 

Each  wagging  beard  and  fumbling  globe 

Hid  in  his  scorpion-spangled  robe, 

"Twelve  houses  in  the  heavens  that  rise 

Wherethrough  the  Seven  Planets  move, — 

Venus  that  is  the  Queen  of  Love, 

Saturn,  whose  spinning  rings  wake  whirring  tunes, 

Uranus,  circled  with  revolving  moons, 

Neptune,  three  billion  miles  away 

From  Earth's  dim  and  dismal  day, 

[  107  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Banded  Jupiter,  red  Mars, — 
Mercury,  youngest  of  the  stars. 
And  we  be  those  can  shape  from  these 
Water  and  fire  and  air's  triplicities. 
The  balm  of  friends,  the  curse  of  enemies. 
Health,  wealth,  fortune  or  estate. 
Marriage,  love,  and  mischief  great. 
By  orbs  and  intercepted  signs. 
Aspects,  degrees,  and  peregrines. 

"Six  houses  East,  six  houses  West, 

And  the  ephemeris  gives  the  rest. 

And  hues  there  be,  and  gems,  and  functions 

Of  each  great  star  in  its  conjunctions 

On  the  glittering  stellar  track 

With  symbols  of  the  Zodiac 

Where  Lion  or  Ram  or  Goat  appear 

Or  Crab  or  Archer  rise  anear. 

All  as  the  months  make  up  the  year. 

Last — there's  a  Golden  Man  on  high. 

Stretched  on  the  starscape  of  the  sky. 

The  first  house  hath  his  face,  the  second 

The  ruler  of  his  neck  is  reckoned, 

The  third  hath  shoulders,  arms,  and  hands, — 

Each  of  the  others  some  part  commands. 

The  tenth  rules  downward  from  his  thighs, 

Eleventh  to  where  his  ankles  rise. 

And  the  twelfth  completes  his  span 

At  the  feet  of  the  Golden  Man !" 

[  108  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Such  was  their  lore,  with  volumes  more, 
As  who — and  why — was  king-to-be, 
Beggar  or  tyrant,  drunkard,  dreamer. 
Philosopher  or  busy  schemer. 
Hermit  or  sailor  on  the  sea. 
By  the  stars  they  knew  it  well. 
And  so  each  graybeard  swung  his  bell, 
"Fortunes  to  tell !     Fortunes  to  tell !" 

And  then  with  them  there  came  to  dwell 

Our  very  modern  son  of  fury 

Who  laughed  at  law  and  judge  and  jury. 

Ragged,  and  roving  with  his  grudge, 

One  violet  evening,  through  a  haze 

Of  golden  dust,  they  saw  him  trudge 

Up  on  their  ancient  cobbled  ways. 

"Say!     Pipe  dis  burg!"  they  heard  him  mutter. 

As  he  sat  down  above  a  gutter. 

They  marked  him,  keen  to  tell  his  fortune. 

Rustling  they  gathered  to  importune 

His  leave  to  cast  a  horoscope 

And  read  i'  the  stars  the  gibbet-rope 

That  dangled  for  him.     ''Hunh?"  he  said. 

He  scanned  them  well.    He  shook  his  head. 

"De  whole  push  beats  it!     See?"  he  said. 

They  saw.    They  gabbled  off  to  bed. 

[  109  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
In  the  astrologers'  old  town 
The  roofs  peaked  up,  the  moon  blazed  down. 
A  shop-sign  creaked,  a  hinge  made  plaint. 
The  shadows  lay  like  purple  paint. 
All  were  long  abed  and  snoring. 
Save  in  the  gutter,  rags  aflutter, 
"Red"  Leary  raised  his  eyes,  imploring 
The  moon  some  oracle  to  utter. 
He  heard  the  whine  and  clap  of  a  shutter 
Unfastened — but  he  heard  the  din 
That  noisy  noses  made  within. 

He  shook  his  fist.     For  he  had  robbed 

A  king's  palace,  a  thieves'  kitchen, — 

Been  postered,  trailed,  and  almost  jobbed, — 

House-climbed,  house-broke,  been  starved — and  rich — in 

A  hundred  cities.     So  now  he  sobbed 

To  think  that  here  he  sat  this  ditch  in 

Simply  flat  bored  by  plate  or  purse. 

Grievously  he  began  to  curse. 

"Front  Office  nor  de  Eyes  can't  catch  me. 

Aint  no  new  steer  me  bean  kin  hatch  me. 

Me,  wot's  de  icin'  on  de  cake, 

Bawlin'  'sif  me  heart  'd  break ! 

Got  dem  all  buffaloed  wit'  each  new  string 

O'  dope, — aint  no  hand-painted  shoestring 

At  dat!     But  O,  dis  enny-wee! 

O  me  aunt's  cat, — O  dearie  me, 

It's  fierce !"    He  fumbled  in  his  rags 

Producing  two  fat-stomached  bags. 

[  110  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
He  pulled  their  strings  and  let  them  litter 
The  muddy  gutter  with  chinking  glitter. 
"All  kinds  o'  coin!"  he  said,  and  sighed. 
"What's-it,  when  I  hev  lost  me  pride  .^ 
Hully-chee,  fer  a  job  ter  do!" 
"Yoo-hoo!"  he  yawned.     " A-yay-yoo-hoo !" 

So  it  began 

That  the  Golden  Man 

Glimmered  out  of  the  heavens  on  him. 

Sudden  as  flame 

The  vision  came 

And  all  the  sky  around  was  dim. 

In  outline  huge 

Past  subterfuge 

He  saw  those  massive  limbs  that  span 

All  stellar  roads, 

And  the  twelve  abodes 

From  forehead  to  feet  of  the  Golden  Man. 

Have  you  ever  traced  the  Greater  Bear 

Or  Orion  with  his  Belt,  up  there  .^ 

This  shimmering  shape 

On  the  vast  starscape 

Shone  clearer  far  through  that  dazzled  air. 

The  thief  was  aware  it  bristled  his  hair. 

Softly  it  faded.     There  alone, 

Lit  like  a  star, 

With  doors  ajar, 

Atwinkle  the  Twelve  High  Houses  shone ! 

[  111  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

Atwinkle  one  instant.     They  faded  too. 

His  hot  stare  drew  through  a  gulf  of  blue. 

Loud  in  his  brain  the  rumbling  grew 

Of  some  momentous  event  that  neared. 

The  Seven  Candlesticks  of  lights 

Those  wandering  fires  of  heaven,  shone  bright. 

Phalanx  on  phalanx  filled  the  height 

With  stars  accoutred  and  silver-speared. 

Till,  as  though  (as  the  ancient  spells  require!) 
He  had  cast  in  a  greenish  sea-coal  fire 
The  herb  centaury, — filled  with  desire 
To  see  all  the  stars  ride  atilt  on  high, — 
They  trembled  and  seemed  to  begin  a  tourney 
Madly,  and  he  a  momentous  journey. 
Tick  of  the  instant — no  time  to  mourn! — he 
Suddenly  rose  through  the  Eastern  shy. 

Up,  up,  up  from  the  roofs  and  steeples. 
Astrologers  and  snoring  peoples, 
He  rose  like  a  planet,  yes,  seemed  to  sweep  else- 
where with  a  comet's  fizzling  trail. 
On  the  Eastern  horizon  then,  aglimmer. 
He  stretched  his  arms  like  a  diving  swimmer, — 
Gasping,  plunged,  and  grew  much  dimmer, — 
In  fact  in  a  flick  he  was  past  all  hail ! 

Where  did  he  get  to  ?    Well,  what  he  thought  it 
Was,  was  a  downhill  street.     God  wrought  it 
Of  clouds  like  cobblestones.     Unbesought,  it 

[  112  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Gleamed  underfoot.     He  was  feeling  great ! 
All  night  was  before  him.     His  "drag"  and  "buster" 
Would  set  him  to  rights  as  a  claim-adjuster 
With — see  those  Houses?     "Them  parties  muster 
Been  hittin'  de  hay  since  ha'  pass  eight !" 

"So-o,  easy  does  it !     I  got  me  creepers, 

An'  dem  in  dere's  like  de  Seven  Sleepers. 

Bet  dere's  plate  an'  stuff  ter  bug  yer  peepers !" 

He  eyed  the  twelve  abodes  in  a  row 

Adown  their  long  foggy  road  defiling. 

Then  pushed  up  a  sash — at  its  creak  reviling — 

And — that  was  the  last  of  his  easy  smiling. 

Let  me  make  it  clear  why  this  was  so: 

Heaven's  orb,  they  say,  has  four  divisions, 
Four  quadrants,  each  strict  as  a  mathematician's, 
Marked  out  by  astrologer  precisians 
From  where  overhead  in  a  perfect  arc 
Th'  Prime  Vertical  their  code  supposes 
Encircles  space.     Each  quadrant  shows  us 
Three  subdivisions.     Thus  Night  incloses 
Our  world  in  diagrammed  Delphic  dark. 

And,  horizon  to  nadir,  (while  Man  has  slumbered) 
From  the  East,  under  Earth,  these  skies  they've  num- 
bered 
To  the  West,  to  the  zenith.     Not  houses  cumbered 
With  walls  and  windows — but  still  a  span 
Of  symbolic  "houses,"  for  sun  and  moon 

[  113  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
And  the  constellations^  late  or  soon. 
To  traverse  majestical,  night  and  noon, 
From  meridian  to  meridian. 

Was  the  star-men's  spell  upon  their  guest 

Who  had  scorned  them  so  lately?     His  new  house-quest 

Really  circled  the  sky  from  East  to  West, 

For  the  window  he'd  pried  to  those  first  strange  halls 

Was  the  "cusp"  to  the  house  of  the  Ram's  bright  sign. 

Hot  and  luxurious,  fumed  with  wine, 

Where  a  hangdog  Saturn  sate  to  dine 

Satellite-crowned  against  crimson  walls ! 

And,  "Copped  out!"  yelped  our  thief,  in  this  hall  of  fire 
Lit  by  ruddy  Mars'  own  wrathful  ire. 
"Red"  whirled  for  an  exit,  found  his  desire. 
And  pelted  therefrom  in  mad  career. 
But  only  into — the  House  of  Taurus 
Succedent, — and  there  heard  a  bellowed  chorus 
From  Mars  and  Jupiter:  "Bring  before  us — 
Hey,  boy !    Bring  white  Queen  Venus  here !" 

So  thence  through  Mercury's  home  diurnal 
He  fled  on  the  wings  of  a  fate  infernal. 
Where  the  Twins  of  Gemini  seemed  to  burn,  all 
Silver,  on  hot  aerial  blue, — 
Till  Nethermost  Heaven,  of  Cancer's  ruling, 
Surrounded  him  next  with  watery,  cooling. 
Glimmering  halls, — pale  moonlight  pooling 
Floors  and  dais  with  pearlbright  dew. 

[  114  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
And  from  this  Fifth  House,  most  eerily  yelling, 
He  soared  through  the  "Part  of  Fortune's"  dwelling,- 
(That  astrological  symbol,  telling 
Of  money,  property,  gain  or  loss,) 
Leo's  house,  in  the  West's  ascendant  angle 
Where  the  Sun,  his  beard  in  a  golden  tangle, 
Watched  Venus  in  Libra  softly  wrangle 
With  Mercury,  playing  at  pitch  and  toss. 

He  caught  their  expressions, — that  gleaming  flagon 

Sol  tilted  up, — and  the  Tail  of  the  Dragon 

Curled  through  the  door, — yet  could  not  lag  on 

His  wild  house-breaking.  .  .  Through  silken  suites 

Sacred  to  Venus — and  overheated! — 

He  flip-flopped  then,  while  his  brain  repeated 

"Watch  yer  step !" — as,  Subway-seated, 

He  remembered  the  guards  call  the  different  streets. 

Then  the  darkness  hissed.     Cold,  damp,  nocturnal 
Was  Scorpio's  home,  and  deceits  infernal 
Crawled  on  its  walls ;  and  there  eternal 
The  shield  of  Mars  hung  in  ruddy  rust, 
Norsemen  and  pirates  ruling  of  olden.  .  . 
Then  the  Archer's  abode  of  Jove  rose  golden. 
The  thief  flashed  through  it, — no  longer  bold, — in 
A  cyclone  of  kicked-up  stellar  dust. 

Next  two  cold  Houses,  where,  white  beard  flashing, 
Capricornus  the  Goat  met  his  eyes,  abashing 
Leary,  who  sprawled  and  came  down  crashing 

[  115  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Through  Saturn's  best  mirror — and  dodged  away 
With  a  leap  through  the  sash  of  one  window  dimmer 
With  violet  light.   .  .  White,  white  and  aglimmer 
There   the   Moon's   throne   rose.      Through   pale   green 

shimmer 
Aquarius  swam  like  a  fish  at  play. 

So  on  to  the  Twelfth,  and  the  Cadent,  dwelling 

Of  finny  Pisces,  madly  pellmelling 

Our  burglar  plunged.     There  remains  for  telling 

Only  the  Head  of  the  Dragon  there, 

Which  yawned  at  him  wide — white  teeth  like  planets. 

I  do  not  believe  a  giant  could  span  its 

Jaws,  dripping  sunsets.     A  grin,  it  ran  its 

Tongue  of  black  midnight  around  its  lair. 

Yet  now,  on  completing  this  sky-rotation, 

Strangely  Leary  shook  with  vexation — 

Or  was  it  terror  ?    An  alteration 

Was  plain  in  lax  mouth  and  bulging  eye. 

And — what  was  that,  that  ominous  roaring? 

He  dove  down  the  Eastern  sky,  imploring 

The  gods  for  rescue.  .  .  But  down  came  pouring 

Behind  him,  all  heaven  in  hue  and  cry ! 

"Stop  thief!"  they  shouted.    With 'vestments  surging 
And  hair  astream,  leapt  Virgo  the  Virgin 
Waving  the  Scales,  the  weird  chase  urging, 
Followed  by  Scorpio,  Capricorn, 
Sagittarius  and  Aquarius, 

[  116  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
The  Ram,  Bull,  Crab,  and  both  hilarious 
Gemini — each  with  weapons  various, 
Fishnet  or  quiver,  claw  or  horn. 

And  then,  the  Planets  ! 

Ah  well. 
Of  course  he  fell 

Sheer  through  the  chimneypots,  flop  to  the  moonlit  street. 
But  what  he  said  I  think  I  shall  not  tell. 
His  language  was  too  luscious  to  repeat. 
However,  from  where  he  listened  through  his  shuttered 
Window,  the  Chief  Star-Gazer  giggled,  muttered 
In  crafty  bliss,  and  scraped  each  parchment  hand 
Over  the  other. 

"He'll  never  understand 
It  was  not  moonlight  madness,  dreams,  or  heat 
Evolved  that  dark  adventure  in  defeat. 
They  say,  'Revenge  is  sweet.' 
Certes,  it  is !     He  made  a  bad  beginning 
With  us,  so  soothly  I  have  sent  him  spinning 
This  night  the  circuit  of  an  old  chart  of  birth 
Portioned  to  rascals — showing  Heaven  and  Earth — !" 

The  Voice  died  out  again,  quite  silver-toned. 

Down  in  the  gutter  Great  Leary  stirred  and  groaned. 


[  117  ] 


ALEXANDER,  THE  CRAP  KING 

Anyone  dat  hones 
Fo'  a  tas'e  uh  Heaven, 
A  lil  tas'e  uh  Heaven, 
Watch  me  roll-a  de  bones, 
(Come  seben,  come  'leben!) 
Watch  me  roll-a  de  bones ! 

Guess  I'se  bad!    Dat  so? 

Dat  so,  sho  nuff? 

Ah  call  you-all's  bluff ! 

(Dat's  de  stuff,  dat's  de  stuff!) 

Lak  a  houn'-dawg  take  'm, 

Wharsoare  de  flea  be, 

Yo  j  es  watch  me  break  'm ! 

SpeaJc  to  muh,  Phoebe! 

Ee-yah-yah !    An'  out  de  back  do' ! 

Eight,  dat's  mah  p'int;  ah  sho'  is  po' ! 

Say,  anyone  dat  hones 

(Natchul  fo'm,  bones!) 

Roll  me  jes  a  few, 

(Yassuh,  you  too!) 

Jine  mah  rebel 

(Oo!    Up  jump  de  debbil!) 

In  a  r'ally  roUin', 

In  a  riley  rolling'. 

In  a  rolly-roUin' 

De  bo-ones ! 

[  118] 


ALEXANDER,  THE  CRAP  KING 
Down  on  de  lebbee,  sunset  soon, 
Co'n-pone  en  chick-en,  en  de  risin    moon! 
Heah  de  Yankees  talk:  Noo  Yawk,  Noo  Yawk! 
(Not  a  smile  en  de  city  all  de  miles  yo'  gotta  walk, 
No  mo'  possum,  no  mo'  pones !) 
All  ah  got  is  de  bones. 
All  ah  got  is  de  bones, — 
So  ef  anybody  hones 

Fo'  ter  roll  me  jes'  er  lil,  ah  kin  mek  'm  sick. 
(Get  his  bill.  Big  Dick!) 
Ya-as,  wid  deseyeah  lil'  stones 
Ah  kin  skin  'm  putty  slick. 
(On  de  re-boun',  bones!) 

Nine's  mah  p'int — ninety  days  de  jedge  gave  'm. 
An'  a  fo' — an'  a  five — out  de  calaboose  ter  save  'm. 
(Got  de  baabeh's  itch,  so  de  baabeh  couldn'  shave  'm!) 
In  a  r'ally  roUin'  de  bones. 

Hebben's  mah  desiah,  an'  de  Glohry  street. 

Youairil  heah  de  pattah  ob  de  angels'  feet, 

Jes'  like  Hell  done  cotch  afiah, — 

Ya-as,  an'  you'll  yell  Whassamattah? 

But  befo'  de  sky-cops  scattah 

All  de  folks  aroun'  'm 

An  de  cop  commandah  yell  "Pinch  'm  an'  impoun'  'ml" 

Why,  you'll  know  it's  Alexandah, 

An'  be  glad  you  foun'  'm ! 

Ah'U  be  rollin'  de  bones, 

Ah'll  be  rollin'  de  bones, 

Ah'U  be  tossin'  'm  de  fus'  time  on  de  glohry  stones. 

[  119  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 

(Six — it — stays  ! 

Flock  o'  trays,  flock  o'  trays !) 

Ah'll  be  rollin'  'm  fer  hyahps  an'  fer  deseyeah  rings 

Wot    dey    weahs    roun'    dey    haid,    deseyeah    roreyoley 

things. 
(Nebbah  on  de  money — an'  leben  fus'  time!) 
De  spots  all  knows  me.    Dah  goes  yo'  dime  I 
Ya-ah,  de  luck'll  nebbah  lose  me; 
See  de  seben  ray  fuse  me! 
Come  a  runnin',  Mistah  Richud, — 
Sho!     It  sutt'nly  am  a  crime 
When  ah's  r'ally  rollin',  when  ah's   riley-roUin',  when 

ah's  rolly-rollin' 
De  bo-ones ! 

Lashins  er  graby,  an'  a  chick-en  j'int, — 

But  lil',  lil'  Phoebe's  mah  faveright  p'int! 

Nebbah  had  a  wife. 

Lazy  all  mah  life, 

Ah  kin  play  de  fiddle,  ah  kin  play  de  fife. 

Ah  kin  jump  Jim  Crow,  ah  kin  shuck  an'  hoe, — 

Knows  all  de  conjuhs  wot  de  voodoos  know, — 

But  mos'v  all  ah  hones 

To  be  rollin'  de  bones, — 

To  be  r'ally  rollin' 

(Whassat?     Ah's  bleedge  ter  stop?) 

To  be  riley  rollin' 

(Matchyuh,  Mistah  Cop!) 

To  be  roley-oley-oley-oley-oley-oley-olin'. 

To  be  rolly-rollin'  de  bones.  .  . 

Dah's  so! 

[  120  1 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 

1809 

"This  summer  day  is  well-nigh  over !" 

Grated  the  corncrake  in  the  clover. 

And  the  messenger's  mare,  whose  neck  nid-nodded. 

On  the  hot  white  road  half-drowsing  plodded. 

"Oh  for  a  vintner's  bush  and  sign, 

A  long  churchwarden,  a  stoup  of  wine !" 

Mused  the  man  who  blinked  through  dusty  lashes, 

With  dust  on  his  beard  and  his  brown  mustaches, 

Dust  on  his  hat  with  its  Quaker  cock, 

Dust  on  his  neckcloth,  an  ill-creased  stock, 

Dust  from  his  cloak  to  his  boots,  white  dust 

Coating  him  quite,  like  a  cake's  thin  crust. 

He  had  made  haste,  a  haste  unmanning, 
On  a  mission  of  Mr.  Canning's  planning; 
And  the  sloop  awaited  him,  under  Dover, 
'Spite  of  Bonaparte  to  sneak  him  over 
To  Walcheren.     Ah,  hut  that  fragrant  clover! 

Nodded  the  thistle  and  shimmered  the  corn, 
And  all  was  as  still  as  a  sabbath  morn 
At  half-past  four  of  that  afternoon. 
Deep-tranced  hedge-birds  essayed  no  tune. 
"Oh  for  an  alehouse  I"  he  quavered.     "Soon!" 

[  121  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
And  an  alehouse  rose,  as  they  sometimes  will, 
Over  the  brow  of  a  little  hill. 

Where  a  chequer-board  hung  with  device  well-drawn 
Asserting  "The  Sign  of  the  Seventh  Pawn." 
A  whimsical  sign,  and  that  is  flat, — 
But  all  signs  are  queer,  for  the  matter  of  that. 
So  our  man  dismounted  and  knocked  rat-tat 
At  the  green  half-door,  and  he  doffed  his  hat 
To  a  crisp  little  wisp  of  a  curtseying  dame 
Who  bade  him  enter ;  so  in  he  came ! 

I  wonder  if  you  have  ever  seen 
Flaxman's  chessmen;  the  king,  the  queen. 
The  knight,  the  bishop,  and  all  the  rest 
Carved  so  quaintly,  so  quaintly  dressed? 
What  called  them  to  mind  was  that  alehouse  room 
With  its  settles  and  pewter  and  rose-leaf  gloom 
And  its  deep-carved  tables.     It  doesn't  matter 
If  you  don't  play  chess — but  all  of  the  latter 
Were  with  chessmen  set  like  the  hosts  of  Aurelian, 
Chessmen  of  red  and  of  white  carnelian, 
Chessmen  of  ivory,  ebony. 
And  shining  boxwood — a  sight  to  see ! 
For  every  piece,  whether  pawn  or  rook. 
Was  carved  so  it  could  not  be  mistook. 
Fashioned  in  character,  almost  breathing, 
'Neath  the  herb-hung  rafters,  where  blue  smoke  wreath- 
ing 
Told  of  a  pipe  smoked  not  far  distant ; 
And  then,  to  the  little  dame's  chirp  insistent, 

[  123  ] 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
Came  bowing  out  from  behind  the  bar 
The  strangest  "Mine  Host"  found  near  or  far. 

His  peas-cod  bellied  doublet  seemed 

Of  a  satin  some  draper  must  have  dreamed. 

His  peach-colored  stockings  and  stuffed  trunk-hose 

Deeply  slashed  and  embroidered  with  pearls  in  rows, 

His  Catanian  nostril  and  proud  though  still  lip 

Took  one  back  to  the  time  of  weak  King  Philip 

Or  thereabout  in  Iberian  history. 

His  bronze-carved  profile  increased  the  mystery! 

Tobacco  he  smoked,  and  between  each  puff 

Of  his  long  churchwarden  the  man  took  snuff 

From  a  silver  snuff-box  enchased  with  griffins 

That  grimaced  oddly  to  ape  his  sniffin's. 

(Perhaps  that  was  purely  imagination; 

But  our  hero  saw  it  with  perturbation !) 

Soon  enough,  over  wine  of  a  golden  color 
To  thrill  even  reformers  whose  sense  is  duller, 
In  such  weighty  matters,  than  dull  gray  lead, — 
When  cooled  with  this  draught,  and  divinely  fed 
On  a  cream-tart  of  strawberries  richly  red, — 
This  mysterious  host  to  the  messenger  said 
In  English  quite  pat  but  inflected  droUy, 
"You  must  play  me  a  game,  by  all  that's  holy !" 
(Invoking  the  spirit  of  Dacciesole 
Who,  as  you  know,  a  Dominican  friar, 
Wrote  us  first  on  chess — or  call  Caxton  liar !) 
'"Tis  the  game  of  all  games  that  quaintest  is, 

[  123  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
By  the  boudoir  of  Queen  Semiramis ! 
Quaintest  and  chastest,  and  played  they  say 
By  Louis  le  Gros,  and  by  Rabelais 
When  he  delved  in  Galen  at  Montpellier; 
Played  in  court  and  in  camp  by  Charlemagne, 
Saladin,  Bajazet,  and  Tamburlaine, 
An  imperial  motley  how  rich  and  rare ! 
Wife,  set  us  a  board!"    And  the  board  was  there. 
Pieces  were  chosen  with  special  care. 
And  the  upshot  was  that  the  two  began 
The  mightiest  game  yet  known  to  man. 

The  messenger,  studying  knight  and  king, 

Could  not  but  marvel  at  such  a  thing, 

How  each  was  carved  in  such  human  guise 

That  you  almost  expected  them — small  surprise! — 

To  shrug  their  shoulders  or  roll  their  eyes. 

The  mitred  bishops  with  croziers  borne. 

The  knights  with  mace  upon  saddle-horn. 

The  queens  with  tiaras  and  netted  hair. 

The  castles  with  ramparts  and  winding  stair! 

Then  he  offered  a  pawn.    His  hope  waxed  stronger 

Soon — and  the  candle-snuffs  waxed  longer ; 

And  outside  the  alehouse  his  white  mare  dreamed 

By  the  close-cropped  grass,  while  a  pale  moon  gleamed. 

For  sunset  came  and  went  like  flame. 

Night  closed  in  on  the  silent  game; 

And  the  hostess  hied  her  to  bedside  prayers 

Leaving  glimmering  tapers  to  light  the  players. 

[  124.  ] 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
A  struggle ;  and  then  the  Spaniard  won. 
"But  allow  me  to  show  you  how  it  is  done ! 
Here  is,  for  an  instance,  the  Devil's  Counter!" 
He  cried,  "The  Queen's  worth  the  whole  amount.     Her 
Move  is  a  lion  disguised  as  a  lamb.     It 
Is  plotted  by  Queen's  Pawn  Counter-Gambit ; 
But   first— Pawn  to   King's   Fourth!"      He   moved   the 

piece, 
And  weirdly — would  wonders   never  cease! — 
In  five  more  moves,  we  need  not  state. 
Achieved  another  swift  check-mate. 

Then  back  he  leaned,  and  his  pointed  beard 

Lifted  aloft  as  he  kindly  leered. 

The  nonplussed  messenger  scratched  his  head. 

"You  are  a  foreigner,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Long  have  I  loved  the  ranks  and  files 

And  have  sometimes  pondered  this  game  for  miles 

On  my  travels — but  never,  o'er  wine  and  victual. 

Have  I  seen  so  much, — aye,  and  learned  so  little. 

Why  you  have  chosen  to  masquerade 

In  clothes  of  an  antique  cut  and  shade, — 

Your  quaintness  too  easily  mistook 

For  a  figure  stepped  from  a  story-book 

Whose  colored  pictures  thrill  happy  children, — 

I  don't  understand.     It  is  all  bewild'ring. 

And  I  have  passed  on  this  road  before 

Never  perceiving  this  alehouse  door. 

And,  by  all  the  gods,  I  freely  confess 

I  have  never  seen  such  a  game  of  chess ! 

[  125  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Where  did  you  learn  it  ?     Near  or  far,  you 
Could  best  them  all.     Why,  good  Lord,  who  are  you? 
Rare  old  Ruy  Lopez  himself  would  gasp 
At  your  'Devil's  Gambit' !     Your  hand  to  clasp !" 

The  Spaniard  extended  thin  sinewy  fingers, 

And  about  his  lips  such  a  smile  as  lingers 

On  the  summer  sea  when  it  swoons  with  dawn 

Played  for  a  moment.    "Dear  sir,  a  pawn 

Of  fortune,"  he  murmured,  "The  Seventh  Pawn!" 

"Eh.?"  said  the  other.     "Such  mystery  blinks 

Under  the  eyelids  of  the  Sphinx, 

And  far  more  befitting  there  to  awe 

The  pilgrim  who  stands  on  her  great  stone  paw — 

But  from  Oedipus,  with  all  due  apology, 

I  cannot  reckon  my  genealogy. 

Pray  explain  your  allusion!"     The  Spaniard,  "Why, 

Since  you  press  me  so  closely,  I  shall  try ! 

Chess  is  a  life-game,  life  a  chess-game, 

A  strategic  duello,  a  plan-and-guess  game. 

Are  we  but  pawns .?     Or  with  every  move 

Betray  we  the  knight's  or  the  bishop's  groove? 

As  for  applications — the  bishops  there 

Never  leaving  the  color  of  their  square — 

They  might  symbolize  Faith,  how  religion  strives 

Straight  on,  crossed  by  currents  of  all  our  lives. 

Do  you  see  what  I  drive  at  ?     Simply  at  first 

I  revolved  such  thoughts,  and  then  there  burst 

A  light  on  me,  in  my  youth,  at  last. 

[  126  ] 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
Why,  this  chess  is  rooted  as  far  in  the  past 
As  Egypt.     Greeks,  Romans,  Hindoos,  Chinese, 
Have  played  their  variants,  if  you  please; 
And  the  game  takes  hold  of  the  roots  of  wars, — 
Yes,  leaps  thence  to  the  secrets  of  the  stars, 
And  thence  .  .  my  young  eyes  bulged  from  my  head 
In  Salamanca  when  first  I  read 
A  seer's  words  that  lightened  its  penetralia ! 
Your  humor  rises?    Your  doubts  assail  you? 
Yet  I  tell  you  truly  it  is  the  key 
To  the  chart  of  God,  to  the  mystery 
Of  Heaven  and  Hell !     Its  every  plan 
Explains  a  purpose  and  use  of  man. 
And  sudden  the  whole  articulate  scheme 
Blazed  through  my  brain!" 

In  dizzy  dream 
The  other  stared,  while  the  Spaniard  wove 
A  web  of  words  his  listener  strove 
But  feebly  to  break.     It  caught  in  mesh 
Every  riddle  of  spirit  and  flesh, 
Wandered,  meandered,  and  interwound 
Through  metaphysics,  o'erleaped  the  bound 
Of  philosophy,  transcended  symbol. 
Yet  regained  the  clue — lost  worse  than  a  thimble 
In  the  proverbial  haystack — swept 
Through  mysteries  like  some  fiend  adept, 
Himg  on  a  metaphor,  leaped  the  abysm 
And  galloped  off  on  a  syllogism. 
Returned  on  the  wings  of  an  epigram. 
And  grew  in  mad  skill  till  star-swarms  swam 

[  127  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Through  the  messenger's  bewildered  wit 
As  he  gaped  and  goggled  opposite. 

"Know  more/'  his  swarthy  host  continued, 

Grasping  his  wrist  in  a  clutch  steel-sinewed. 

"Little  elixir  have  I  needed 

With  Albertus  Magnus,  to  find  what  he  did. 

Nor  Trismosius'  Magisterium 

To  a  longer  life !     I  have  struck  them  dumb. 

All  the  alchemists  and  the  spells  they  cast. 

All  the  spirits  that  hover  about  the  Vast. 

For  my  knowledge  quickly  enabled  me 

To  cheat  Hell,  with  Heaven,  eternally !" 

And  the  other  stared  on  as  the  Spaniard  cried, 

"Yes,  I  live,  I  live — I  have  never  died! 

"Your  day  is  appointed — and  mine — ^but  I 

Saw  too  many  moves  ahead  to  die. 

Every  beat  of  the  pulse,  every  tick  of  the  clock 

Is  a  move — ^but  intelligent  keys  unlock 

The  solution.     And  I  have  discerned  the  whole! 

Does  God's  hand  set  forth  for  bliss  or  dole 

One  more  piece?    Does  the  Devil's  black  claw  show 

As  he  marshals  another  in  his  row.^ 

'Twixt  both  I  have  played  the  game  as  taught. 

Sudden  as  lightning,  and  swift  as  thought, — 

But  now  .  .    !"     (And  the  lisping  voice  so  near 

Sank  so  wearily,  almost  a  tear 

Seemed  to  stand  and  gleam  in  the  darkening  eye !) 

"But  now — ah,  they  will  not  let  me  die!" 

[  138  ] 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
The  room  was  quite  still  for  a  gasping-space, 
And  the  other  gazed  into  a  haggard  face. 

"They  will  not  .  .  for  once  I  became  aware, 

I  created  a  country  in  the  air. 

My  imagination  took  with  a  surge 

The  potencies  of  a  demiurge 

From  that  Perfect  Knowledge  .  .  and  yet,  the  power 

To  bring  me  sweet  death  at  any  hour 

Lies  in  the  hands  of  the  phantom  queen 

Of  that  region  no  mortal  man  has  seen. 

That  is  the  loophole  the  Powers  have  left  me 

Before  their  subtle  revenge  bereft  me 

So  suddenly  of  all  my  pride. 

But — they  knew,  they  knew  I  should  be  denied ! 

For  the  queen  I  breathed  into  ghostly  being, 

Why,  hers  is  almost  marvelous  seeing. 

And  she  knows  her  realm,  with  my  death,  would  be 

Naught — thinnest  air — lost  utterly, 

To  the  last  pawn ! 

I  plead  and  plead 
When  I  visit  there,  and  my  earth-days  bleed 
Unheeded  down  before  her  crown. 
Ah  God,  my  relentless  years  would  drown 
A  stone  in  tears !     You — you  marked  my  dress. 
Then,  how  old  do  you  think  me  ?     Come,  confess !" 

The  blue  smoke  eddied,  and  through  it  swam 
That  wax-pale  face. 

"Dear  Sir,  I  am," 

[  129  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
The  Spaniard  grinned,  with  dry  lips  curled  back, 
"A  miracle,  fleshly  and  cardiac!" 

That  gleam  of  teeth  such  as  a  she-wolf  suckles 

Made  the  other  grip  with  whitened  knuckles 

An  edge  of  the  heavy-carven  table. 

He  could  only  stammer,  with  brain  unstable, 

"Ha,  ha !    That's  good — good  enough — dare  swear ! 

Excellent,  excellent !" 

"Have  a  care!" 
And  across  the  hidalgo's  face  a  flare 
Of  sudden  malice  like  green  flame  blew. 
"Fool!"  said  the  Iberian.     "I'll  prove  it  you!" 
Like  a  lean  black  cat  with  a  rapier  tail 
He  lounged  to  the  fire ;  then  flicked  forth  a  veil 
Of  spangled  iridescent  stuff. 
Full  ten  yards  long,  from  beneath  his  ruff; 
Span  it  in  his  hands  to  a  whirling  maze 
Of  fabric  flying  in  rainbow  blaze; 
And— "There !"  he  cried,  as  he  let  it  fall 
On  the  licking  flames,  "goes  Bathsheba's  shawl  !'* 
"And  here,"  he  cried,  as  he  drew  from  his  leg 
A  crystalline  globe,  "is  a  real  Roc's  eggl" 
Over  his  shoulder  he  tossed  it  lightly. 
Crackle-smash  it  fell.     The  fire  so  brightly 
Blazed  on  the  instant,  the  other's  eyes 
Went  almost  blind  with  his  shocked  surprise, 
But  it  seemed  that  one  moment  he  saw  arise 
From  a  golden  core  of  streaming  light 
A  vast  grotesque  bird,  with  infinite 

[  130  ] 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
Spread  of  wing  and  a  great  hooked  beak. 
"So !     So  !"  cried  the  Spaniard,  and  turned,  to  tweak 
From  thin  air  a  flask  with  a  ruby  glow, 
"Now  I  pour  the  elixir  of  life — and — so!" 
Suddenly  next  to  his  very  feet 
That  other  felt  the  floor  rock  and  beat, 
Burst  up  like  kindling,  and  reveal 
A  proud-horsed  knight,  from  head  to  heel 
One  portentous  dazzle  of  brilliant  steel. 
This  was  white  magic  to  behold. 
The  charger  tossed  his  crest  of  gold, 
'Neath  purple  and  crimson  caparison. 
Pawed,  and  his  rider  sate  thereon 
With  beaked  visor  pushed  above  his  eyes 
Revealing  a  ruddy  face  and  wise. 
Thick  brown-bearded.     Then  sudden  he 
Opened  his  lips,  and  thunderously 
Roared,  "Caissa !"  and  shook  his  lance, 
Its  rippling  pennon  with  gold  a  glance; 
And  then  in  a  great  voice  deep  and  strong 
Shook  the  rafters  with  this  wild  song: 

"I  am  Sir  Lionel  Perceforest, 
Uthyr  Pendragon's  bastard  son. 
A  wyvern  azure  is  my  crest. 
I  win  all  kingdoms  that  are  won. 
I  leap  to  battle  when  crossbows  hail 
Their  quarrels  that  rattle  on  coats  of  mail. 
My  broadsword  whirls  from  East  to  West. 
I  spur  amain  with  lance  in  rest. 

[  131  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Ho,  Sane  Greal,  Sane  Greal,  Sane  Greal! 
My  sword  is  mighty.     It  shall  prevail ! 

"Say  Theseus  had  a  woman's  wrist, 
Call  Alexander  a  fool  foredone, 
Dub  Lord  -Slneas  what  things  ye  list, — 
I  win  all  kingdoms  that  are  won ! 
I  ride  the  forest  in  moonlight  white. 
Soul,  that  abhorrest  the  nets  of  night. 
In  thy  adventure  when  woods  are  whist 
I  spur  amain  through  leprous  mist. 
Ho,  Sane  Greal,  Sane  Greal,  Sane  Greal ! 
My  sword  is  valiant.    It  shall  prevail ! 

"Deep  in  the  dragon  darkness  quail 
Chimaeras  like  Bellerophon's. 
The  starlight  strikes  each  gleaming  scale 
To  peacock  colors  and  flashing  bronze. 
Through  thickets  I  thrust  to  front  the  cave. 
Beasts  bite  the  dust  before  my  glaive. 
My  sword  is  terrible  to  prevail. 
Ho,  Sane  Greal,  Sane  Greal,  Sane  Greal ! 
Christ  on  the  Rood  and  Mary  Pale, 
Hell  for  the  Paynim,  and  hail  the  Grail !" 

With  that  the  chimney  seemed  to  choke 

And  the  room  was  filled  with  a  waft  of  smoke 

Cloudier  and  bluer  than  indeed 

Had  eddied  ere  this  from  Virginian  weed. 

Through  its  swirls  the  messenger  half -perceived 

[  132  1 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
Other  clashing  knights,  cuirassed  and  greaved, 
Mane  and  tail  of  other  chargers  bold 
Interplaited  with  threads  of  gold, 
And  the  glitter  of  spiked  steel  o'er  all 
From  gleaming  chanfrain  and  bright  poictral. 

How  in  Heaven's  name  could  that  small  inn-room 

Inclose  such  hordes  as  its  guest  saw  loom 

For  a  moment,  to  charge  the  chimney-breast 

With  pennon  fluttering,  lance  in  rest, 

And  leap  with  the  shower  of  sparks  they  smote 

Sudden-sucked  up  the  draught  of  the  chimney-throat? 

What  airy  bugle  thrilled  wildly  winding?  .  . 

The  floor  was  a  furnace,  the  smoke  was  blinding! 

With  one  arm  flung  over  his  smarting  eyes 

The  reeling  messenger  tried  to  rise. 

Then  a  strong  arm  steadied  his  deadly  fear. 

The  Spaniard's  voice  was  in  his  ear: 

"Leap!"     And  he  leapt  through  shrivelling  flame 

To  a  void  of  darkness,  lost  breath,  and  came 

To  his  senses  again  and  opened  his  eyes 

On  a  tempest  of  stars  and  tossing  skies 

Through  which  he  bored  with  a  rocket's  flight 

While  planets  poured  past  to  the  pit  of  night. 

Upward — upward!     He  cried  aghast 

As  the  deeps  of  heaven  bombarded  past. 

Upward — upward — and  still  he  knew 

By  his  side  that  the  Spaniard  was  flying  too. 

His  lids  squeezed  tight,  as  he  whirled  and  hurdled 

And  somersaulted.     His  blanched  blood  curdled. 

[  133  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
One  last  fearful  hurl,  when  his  doom  seemed  sealed, 
And  head-foremost  he  slid  through  a  soft  green  field  I 

Harsh  as  a  file  his  first  breath  rasped  back, 

Each  limb  felt  as  limp  as  an  empty  sack. 

His  head  was  a  tight-stretched  resonant  drum. 

And  then  that  same  merciless  voice  said  "Come!" — 

And,  with  throat  tight-gagged  in  hammering  fright. 

He  opened  his  eyes  on — life  and  light! 

Who  shall  describe  those  thick-flowered  meads 

Where  knights  curvetted  on  their  prancing  steeds, 

Where  silken  damask  pavilions  lay 

Crowned  with  their  arms  and  ribboned  gay? 

Heralds  in  vivid  coats  were  seen 

Strutting  proudly  across  the  green; 

Squires  with  cushioned  helms  or  glaives 

And  men-at-arms  with  fair  white  staves. 

All  blazed  and  bustled  as  if  the  intent 

Were  this  day  for  a  royal  tournament. 

Pages  ran,  great  chargers  reared  to  ramp. 

One  bee-hive  hum  filled  the  whole  great  camp. 

And  inexorably  before  our  friend 

Whisked  in  such  strange  wise  through  the  whole  world's 

end 
To  this  chivalric  and  antic  heaven, 
The  Spaniard  stood.     The  numeral  Seven 
Blazed  from  front  and  back  of  a  tabard  sheathing 
His  peacock  pride !     The  messenger's  breathing 
Came  slower  and  softer.     A  grinning  serf 

[  134  ] 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
Beckoned  them  over  the  soft  rich  turf. 

They  followed. 

As  the  tents  drew  near 
The  bright  sun  glittered  on  many  a  spear. 
One  squire  in  a  silver  basin  splashed 
And  through  dripping  beard  laughed  unabashed. 
Down  the  tent-lane  tramped  with  a  great  to-do 
Two  kettle-drummers  in  crimson  and  blue. 
And  a  pompous  herald  met  the  beholders, 
A  parchment  fluttering  from  his  shoulders 
On  which,  inscribed  in  black-letter  script 
With  capitals  flaming  from  quills  well-dipped 
In  crimson,  a  speech  ran  on  this  wise: 

"Hear  ye,  hear  ye  what  doth  devise 

Our  sovereign,  supreme,  and  glorious  queen 

Caissa  Celestia !    Be  it  seen 

That  all  her  subjects  throng  to  her  banner 

From  every  place  and  in  every  manner 

Since  the  cruel  Chinese  potentate 

Chaturanga  is  at  our  gate 

With  ships  and  elephants  roundly  cursed 

By  our  brave  Scaccophilus  the  First, 

King  of  Arch-chequerboard — orchard  and  vine, 

Valley  and  mountain,  thy  land  and  mine ! 

Hear  ye,  hear  ye !    For  our  fair  queen 

Let  us  chase  and  deliver  our  strokes  with  dene 

For  today,  as  our  annual  tournament 

Was  blithely  preparing  in  many  a  tent. 

Came  couriers  breathless  and  faint  with  fear 

[  135  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Who  cried,  'The  Mongolian  host  draws  near 
Mixed  with  the  Persians, — on  gilded  gongs 
Clanging  and  banging,  in  silk-robed  throngs 
And  armor  of  steel  and  bronze  and  gold, 
A  terrible  army  to  behold!'  .  . 
Japan's  small  fighters  in  masks  agrin 
And  horned  headdresses  redouble  the  din 
With  short  and  long  swords  clashing  and  rattling, 
Bows  and  arrows  tossed,  horse  and  foot  embattling 
In  lacquer  that  envy  of  every  bonze  stirs 
Pictured  with  dragons  and  birds  and  monsters ; 
And  their  daimyos'  litters  with  jewels  aglitter — 
Four  milk-white  mules  to  every  litter 
With  head-harness  ringing  a  thousand  bells 
And  housings  scarlet  and  gold,  or  else 
Purple  and  silver,  direct  the  throng! 
White  and  grey  elephants  shamble  along 
With  great  painted  howdahs  wherein  Fong-lee, 
Yoo-fow,  and  such  princes  of  high  degree 
Ply  their  chop-sticks  and  drink  their  tea 
While  almond-eyed  girls  touch  the  tinkling  lute 
And  the  bright  hues  blaze  from  each  silken  suit 
And  the  coiled  black  queues  entangle  the  sky. 
And  each  squatting  celestial  is  fain  to  ply 
Bright  curious  fans,  such  as  wizards  chase. 
Their  ivory  sticks  carved  fine  as  lace. 
Their  rich  silk  spread  embroidered  with 
Wonderful  legend  and  marvelous  myth ! 
So  with  shoguns,  mikados,  and  tramping  battalions ; 
Elephants,  camels,  and  zebra-stallions, 

[  136  1 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
With  match-lock  and  pole-axe,  o'er  mountain  and  valley 
Chaturanga  approaches!   .  .   Ho,  knights,  to  the  rally! 
Rally,  rally !     Forth  we  must  sally 
To  meet  the  foe  in  yon  chequered  valley 
Whereon  we  have  ever  stood,  and  smitten. 
And  won  for  Caissa — as  it  is  written !" 

The  herald  stood  striking  an  attitude 
Till  the  messenger  read  the  last  word. 

Ensued 

More  sights  of  the  camp.     Before  one  tent 

A  huge  smith  over  a  bellows  bent, 

Fanning  a  forge.     His  big  broad  back 

Was  turned,  but  his  habit  showed  a  black 

Numeral  Two. 

They  stood  apart. 
The  Spaniard  explaining,  "You  see,  his  art 

Is  fashioning  saddle,  bridle,  and  spur 
For  his  knight.    And  does  it  not  yet  occur 
To  you  that  these  numbers  denominate  us 
Our  Queen's  eight  pawns  ?    To  leap  the  hiatus 
Back  to  plain  life,  'tis  in  Chaucer  you'll  find 
The  supposed  resemblance  of  every  kind 
Of  piece  to  the  mortal  whom  it  suits. 
So  all  of  us  have  our  attributes. 
I  am  the  Courier.     And  today. 
If  a  last  hope  fail  me,  I'll  try  a  -way  .  .    !" 
He  recovered  his  smile.     "But  come,  confess 
How  like  you  my  phantast's  Land  of  Chess  .^" 

[  13T  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
Then,  waiting  no  answer,  with  quicker  pace 
He  led  round  a  pavilion.     The  other's  face 
Worked  with  dumb  questions.     But  when  they  stopped 
Once  clear  of  the  camp,  his  jaw  down-dropped. 
For  into  his  eyes  swam  the  larger  view. 
Mountains  ringed  them,  mountains  of  blue. 
Or  were  they  mountains  or  moving  cloud? 
However,  beneath  them  stretched  a  proud 
Sweep  of  river  and  plain,  like  a  dazzling  shield; 
Aye,  beneath  them  indeed!     For  here  the  field 
Dropped  sheer  from  a  rock-ridge,  a  rock-ridge  crowned 
With  a  castle  whose  ramparts  might  well  astound. 
A  wide  fosse  lay  deep  round  its  plainward  plan 
Over  which  a  great  chained  drawbridge  ran. 
It  crouched  upon  the  beetling  crag 
Turreted  high  like  an  antlered  stag. 
Its  keep  rose  clear,  its  outer  wall 
Beyond  the  base-court  began  the  fall 
Of  the  cliff  face.     It  inclosed  enisled 
Magnificent  castellations,  piled 
With  turrets  (O  pledge  of  knightly  farings !) 
Emblazoned  with  rich  armorial  bearings. 
Within  rose  din.     Above  flew  forth 
Long  twining  pennants  to  west  and  north. 
They  crossed  the  bridge.     They  climbed  the  deep 
Steep  steps  within  the  round-tower  keep, 
Entered  a  doorway  whose  great  arch  shone 
With  a  horse-head  carved  on  its  transom-stone. 
And — were  led  to  the  stair  by  the  Seneschal. 

[  138  ] 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
Right  through  the  thickness  of  the  wall 
That  dark  stair  rose,  ignoring  doors » 
With  glimpses  of  the  different  floors — 
Ladies  with  framed  embroidery, 
Curled  pages  bending  silken  knee. 
Great  stone  chimneys,  oak  panellings, 
Dark  tall  portraits  of  queens  and  kings. 

They  came  to  the  summit  of  the  tower. 

A  sight  to  sap  an  Emperor's  power 
With  majesty!     Tree  over  tree 
The  forest  clomb  under  them  thunderously 
To  lap  at  the  base  of  their  barbican. 
Whence,  winding  down,  a  great  causey  ran 
Lost  in  the  wood  below.     But — strange ! — 
The  mapped  fields  beneath  took  on  a  change. 
As  far  they  spread  their  pattern  appeared 
A  giant  chequer-board,  spaced  and  cleared. 
From  wood  to  mountain  (or  cloud)  that  far 
On  the  horizon  .   .  showed  glints  of  war 
Even  now  approaching!    Yes!     For  the  tall 
Eighth  Pawn — who  else  but  the  Seneschal ! — 
Now  pointed  and  shook  his  keys  at  the  foe. 
"That  is  his  army  moving  below, — 
Chaturanga's  Mongolian  evil. 
Friends  of  the  fiends  and  spawn  of  the  Devil! 
Look  you,  they  hold  nine  files  instead 
Of  eight — and  how  are  their  pieces  spread? 
Along  lines,  not  squares, — and  placed  for  guile 

[  139  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
At  the  intersections  of  rank  and  file ! 
Bah!    And  they  keep  an  open  space 
Between  fifth  and  sixth  ranks  from  either  base; 
The  River,  they  call  it !  .  .  Yet  they  may 
Bid  their  Cannon  thunder  their  worst  today 
And  their  Councillors  plot,  for — by  my  Ferse ! — 
This  rabble  of  idolaters, 
Dogs  of  unbelievers,  paynims  confessed. 
Shall  by  our  Caissa  be  clean  outchessed !" 

Such  spleen  mazed  the  messenger.     Down  they  ran 
And  across  a  courtyard.     The  puzzled  man 
Groped  in  the  words  of  that  stern  official 
Still  wondering  what  was  so  prejudicial 
In  the  foe  that  came — only  catching  glints 
Of  all  these  matters,  and  sidewise  hints. 

And  now,  in  the  great  main  hall  and  court. 

What  bustle  there  was !     Of  every  sort 

Was  the  armor  that  clanked  and  clattered  and  blazed. 

Lance  and  sword  of  the  horsemen  grazed 

Poleaxe  and  estoc  of  footmen  fleet 

Cap-a-pie  from  heads  to  feet. 

Some  with  pavises,  some  with  targes. 

Some  with  morning-stars  (whose  stroke  enlarges 

The  range  of  brains), — with  morion 

Cuirasse,  heaume,  and  habergeon. 

Pike,  spontoon,  bascinet,  and  partizan, 

(That  one  for  sport  hurled  over  a  bartizan) 

Halbert,  gisarm,  every  manner 

[  140  1 


'  THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 

Of  metal  that  ever  danced  to  a  banner 
Or  fabric  that  ever  upholstered  metal 
Or  leather  or  wood — in  splendid  fettle 
The  men-at-arms  milled  in  the  great  stone  hall 
Before  a  dais,  imposing  on  all 
Reverence  perforce.     The  stranger  knew 
There  stood  Caissa  the  Queen  on  view, 
And  then  he  saw.     She  shone  fuU-stoled 
With  ermine,  gowned  in  cloth  of  gold. 
One  instant  he  had  to  visualize  her 
Through  the  throng.     The  Bishop,  her  adviser, 
Though  more  like  a  judge  of  many  pleas 
With  a  great  tome  open  upon  his  knees. 
Sat  at  her  right — on  her  left  another 
Legal  potentate,  this  Bishop's  brother. 
"One  reads  criminal,  one  the  civil  law!" 
The  Spaniard  whispered.     The  traveller  saw 
Next,  as  the  throng  a  little  shifted, 
Headdresses  passed,  and  nearer  he  drifted, — 
He  saw  the  King.    But  the  dark  Queen  kept  her 
Hawk  eyes  fixed  on  his  golden  sceptre. 
And,  in  purple  robes,  he  shook  as  with  cold. 
The  golden  apple  twitched  in  the  hold 
Of  his  trembling  fingers.     Before  his  face 
Stood  to  defend  him  with  sword  and  mace. 
In  helm  and  hauberk,  two  knights  of  the  throne. 
One  the  proud  Queen's  and  one  his  own. 
And  now,  through  the  crowd,  to  a  murmur  of  "Look, 
Hither  they  move !    Yes,  yon's  a  Rook." 
Two  figures  advanced  as  legates  should, 

[  141  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
With  staff  and  mantle  and  minever  hood, 
And  passed  in  close  converse.     A  glimpse  of  the  throne 
Again,  and  our  friend  saw  the  Queen  alone 
But  the  Spaniard  approaching.     He  plead.     She  said: 
(The  messenger  caught  the  words)  "What?     Dead? 
Why,  if  dead  .  .    !  No,  no !     For  the  last  time,  No ! 
Who  created  Us?     Fool!    We  shall  keep  it  so!" 
Off  his  host  rushed  cursing. 

And  then,  afar, 
Some  trumpet  blew  shrill  points  of  war; 
And  out  to  the  courtyard,  out  to  the  causey 
All  swept.     Without  a  single  pause  he — 
The  messenger — ran,  great  bound  on  bound, 
While  horse-hoofs  struck  sparks  from  all  around 
In  deafening  din;  and  other  racing 
Men-at-arms  and  maids  made  such  a  chasing 
With  varlets  and  Pawns  (for  such  they  must  be) 
Naught  could,  because  of  the  haste  and  the  dust,  be 
Well  discerned, — but  only  neighing 
And  puffing  and  shouting  and  jolting  and  swaying 
And  hurling  and  laughing  and  clashing  and  praying. 

He  ran  in  the  mob,  and  could  not  fall 

Since  the  speed  and  the  weight  of  the  mass  held  all 

Closely  erect;  he  ran  until 

All  life  seemed  an  avalanche  down  a  hill 

With  banners  tossing  and  trumpets  tooting, — 

And  then — in  the  flick  of  an  eye — went  shooting 

Through  trees  that  darkly  and  vaguely  reared 

Out  on  the  plain,  where  a  space  was  cleared. 

[  143  ] 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
All  scattered  and  swarmed  toward  different  places. 
He  followed  the  crowd  and  watched  their  faces. 
Where  was  the  Spaniard?     But,  to  a  cry 
"The  Army !",  eight  marching  Pawns  came  by, 
Upon  their  flag  a  device  you  guess : 
"We  are  the  very  soul  of  Chess !" 
There  was  the  smith  they  had  seen  ere  this, 
And  Number  One,  who  a  woodsman  is 
With  hatchet  in  girdle ;  and  close  in  tread, 
With  a  great  quill  pen  upraised  instead 
Of  a  lance,  came  Number  Three,  the  Clerk, 
With  inkhorn  swung  and  damp  hair  dark. 
Four?     Four  shook  a  pair  of  scales;  for  shield  he 
Wagged  before  him  a  large  unwieldy 

Bolt  of  cloth — a  Merchant  verily ! 

And  Five,  with  a  razor  trod  right  merrily — 

Spicer,  apothecary,  surgeon. 

And  then,  as  solemn  as  a  sturgeon 

Stepped  Six,  the  Taverner,  tankard- j  angling ; 

And  last,  the  Spaniard,  strangely  wrangling 

Now  with  the  Seneschal.     In  one  hand 

The  former  bore  a  packet  planned 

For  courier-delivery. 

The  Seneschal  wielded  a  big  brass  key. 

They  marched,  and  the  crowd  spread  back  and  back 

As  the  two  Throne-knights  rode  on  their  track. 

The  Legates  and  the  Bishops  passed 

Amid  acclamations ;  and  so,  at  last, 

The  proud  stout  Queen  and  the  small  pale  King. 

[  143] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
But  soon  all  saw  a  daunting  thing, 
As  the  small  chess-host  of  Caissa  spread 
Over  the  plain, — for  forms  of  dread 
Had  drawn  right  near  in  the  interim 
And  the  whole  horizon  was  splendid  and  dim 
With  tossing  howdahs  and  swaying  hills 
And  whanging  music  with  shrills  and  trills 
Shot  through, — and  grotesque  hordes  in  mail, 
And  beasts  one  lollop  from  head  to  tail ! 
Suddenly  out  of  that  swarm  there  streamed 
Red  rockets  which  burst  into  stars  that  gleamed 
In  rainbow  colors,  and  wept  toward  earth; 
And  a  fusillade  of  firecrackers  rattled  into  birth. 
Gongs  swung  wildly.    Lo  and  behold. 
From  the  first  fierce  ranks  this  war-song  rolled: 

Aie!  Aie!  Aie!  .  . 
A  proud  and  purple  King 
Reigned  in  India  the  olden. 
To  the  seal  upon  his  ring 
His  subjects  were  beholden; 
And  there  came  to  pass  a  thing 
That  in  words  of  blood  is  told  in 
The  tomes  of  the  Yellow  Nations. 
Their  salvations  thus  we  sing! 

Wise  Kajah  and  Brahmin 
Descried  him  bloat  with  power 
And  sought  to  bring  him  calm  in 
An  anguished  evil  hour. 

[  144  1 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
They  came  with  prayer  and  psalm  in 
To  the  throne-room  of  his  tower. 
"Thy  people  all  are  dying!" 
They  came  crying  to  the  King. 

Aie!  Aiel  A'le! 

"Thou  hast  forgot  thy  land, 

All  that  its  peace  and  war  meant ; 

Thou  rend'st  it  in  each  hand 

As  one  might  rend  a  garment. 

Thou  rul'st  with  wild  command!" 

And  he  said,  "Die,  dogs,  in  torment!" 

And  had  them  all  beheaded 

Did  that  dreaded  evil  King. 

But  Sissa,  Daher's  son. 
Who  saw  his  land  so  broken. 
Hissed  low,  "The  King  dreams  on; 
Yet  shall  his  sleep  be  woken!" 
To  the  Silence  hath  he  gone 
To  brood,— saith,  "I  have  spoken!" 
What  snare  is  he  inventing 
For  that  unrelenting  King? 

Aie!  Aie!  Aiel  .  . 
The  princes  tributary 
Saw  his  people's  love  divided. 
In  secret  woxe  they  merry 
And  their  hour  of  power  they  bided, 
For  they  saw  a  kingly  quarry 

[  H5  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
And  the  bloody  wrong  his  pride  did 
To  the  souls  of  a  people  stricken 
Who  must  sicken  of  their  King. 

Then  Brahmin  Sissa's  thought 

Evolved  a  Game  of  Glory 

And  soon  the  folk  were  taught 

Its  rules  and  skill  and  story, 

And  the  Brahmin  soon  was  brought 

Before  that  tyrant  gory 

Who  growled,  "Strange  rumors  reach  me. 

Thou  shalt  teach  me  of  this  thing !" 

Aie!  Aie!  Aie! 
They  played  most  secretly. 
And  Sissa,  to  astound  him, 
Showed  the  King  in  Chess  to  be 
The  sport  of  foes  that  bound  him — 
Stripped  of  might  and  empery 
Did  his  folk  not  rally  round  him. 
*'For  his  strength  is  in  his  people. 
Ponder  deep  all  this,  oh  King! 

"Alone  this  King  is  naught 

But  a  spoil  for  ravenous  foemen. 

And  Love — can  Love  be  bought 

With  the  sword }     Nay !    Love  must  show  men 

Warm  true  heart  and  word  and  thought !"  .  . 

And  he  understood  the  omen; 

His  heart  was  moved;  his  nation 

Gained  salvation  through  their  King! 

[  146  ] 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
It  ululated  like  weird  shrill  mirth 
Of  hidden  meaning.     It  sang  the  birth 
Of  Chess  from  the  East  .   .  a  thing  to  appal 
Those  of  the  faith  of  the  Seneschal, 
Who  roared  at  once,  "High  blasphemy! 
Thracian  Caissa,  this  is  She 
The  Bright  Undying,  beloved  of  Mars, 
Whose  strength  victorious  sways  our  stars ! 
He  from  Love's  brother,  Euphron,  sought 
The  First  Chess  Board, — by  Euphron's  thought 
Designed,  and  for  Caissa's  kiss. 
Dastard  recalcitrants,  this  is 
The  Faith  we  hold,  our  hope  of  Bliss ! 
Ye  unbelieving  dogs,  we  fight 
For  our  Caissa,  Truth,  and  Right! 
Degenerate  Sissains,  'ware  of  us 
Who  rend  your  ranks  idolatrous !" 

Crowds  tossed  about  the  messenger. 
And  scarcely  he  could  see  or  stir 
Till  a  squire  lent  him  stirrup  and  hand. 
Then,  over  their  heads  he  gazed,  and  scanned 
A  space  of  the  endless  chequered  plain 
Cleared,  and  enclosed  by  the  gorgeous  train 
Of  Chaturanga,  across  the  sward, — 
And  here,  by  Caissa's  clamorous  horde. 
But  of  all  the  knights  who  had  taken  shield 
Only  two  stood  forth.     The  squire  revealed 
The  reason,  explaining  genially 
This  first  conventional  tilt  to  be, 

[  147  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
As  one  might  say,  a  formality, 
A  try-out  for  the  coming  war 
In  which,  when  arrayed,  an  army-corps 
Should  be  reckoned  one  piece,  squadrons  of  horse 
Wheel  for  one  knight,  and  a  serried  force 
Of  footmen,  spears,  and  bows  march  on 
To  represent  a  single  pawn. 
Meanwhile  (though  in  earnest)  there  preluded 
This  fight  of  Thirty-two.    But  if  feud  did 
Ever  engage  more  desperate  souls. 
It  is  not  written  on  Heaven's  rolls. 
And  there  on  Chaturanga's  side 
Stood  Cannon  and  Elephants  of  pride 
And  Councillors  all  ranged  arow 
In  the  nomenclature  the  East  doth  know. 
And  suddenly  out  between  the  forces 
Ambled  two  envoys  on  armored  horses 
From  either  side.     After  swift  debating 
They  each  read  out  (strictly  translating) 
The  governing  laws  of  the  combat,  clause 
And  codicil,  to  the  end.     A  pause. 
First  Move  became  Caissa's  right. 
Chaturanga  answered.     A  bright  Throne-knight 
Trotted  out  to  a  turfy  plat,  averred 
By  the  crowd  to  be  King's  Bishop's  Third.  .  . 

But  the  messenger  wearied.     He  wished  to  stroll 
Through  the  throng.    And  he  happened  upon  a  scroll 
Outrolled  on  a  table,  whereover  sat 
The  Master  Manoeuvrer,  wise  and  fat. 

[  148  ] 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 

'Twixt  him  and  the  field  ran  pages  gay 

As  he  scribbled  instructions  for  each  new  play. 

And  ever  he  fumed  in  tart  vexation 

As  he  reconnoitred  the  situation. 

His  wild  gaze  showed  that  he  rolled  his  eyes  on 

Strategic  and  tactical  horizon, 

Attack  and  support,  topographic  key, 

And  points  of  impenetrability. 

With  muttering  mumble  and  growls  and  groans 

He  burbled  of  hypothetic  zones, 

And  gabbled  a  jargon  worse  than  a  mystic's 

Freighted  with  Lesser  and  Greater  Logistics. 

(Doubtless  his  Oriental  fellow 

Served  Chaturanga.) 

But  what  a  bellow 
Of  rage  and  hate  assaulted  the  skies 
Suddenly!     It  appeared  from  their  cries 
On  a  left  oblique  that  a  certain  Pawn 
Through  the  enemy's  host  had  deftly  gone 
And,  winning  the  farthest  rank,  was  made 
A  Councillor.    But  here  he  betrayed 
In  a  moment  all  hopes.     He  was  acting  queerly. 
And  rushed  at  his  own  Throne-knight,  who  nearly 
Succumbed  to  his  stroke.     Yes !     It  seemed  quite  clear 
That  he  was  a  traitor,  or  very  near 
Running  amok! 

And  then  a  figure 
Bobbed  out  on  the  field  in  a  crazy  jig, — your 
Chinese  director  of  movements  and  tacticals  ! 
Bright  on  his  nose  danced  his  big  horn  spectacles. 

[  149  ] 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
But  his  claw  fingers  waved  on  high,  to  the  gapers. 
What — lo  and  behold! — but  The  Secret  Papers! 

"Then  it  was  the  Courier !"  a  great  gasp  rose. 
And  now,  no  mistake,  he  led  their  foes 
In  a  Councillor's  robes  of  flapping  blue 
And  a  crescent  sword,  and  an  uncoiled  queue. 
His  identity — but  of  course  you've  guessed  it. 
'Twas  the  Seventh  Pawn  who,  unarrested. 
Overrode  the  ranks  that  reeled  in  confusion, — 
'Twas  the  Spaniard's  face,  to  their  disillusion 
That  gleamed  such  a  wild-cat  grin !     And  behind 
Flashed  acres  of  swords.    With  a  sudden  blind 
Burst  of  thunder  crashed  drum  on  drum. 
Heavily  the  elephants  lumbered  up  to  come. 
Yes,  at  double-quick,  far-aligned  battalions. 
Dromedaries,  leopards,  and  zebra-stallions. 
Lacquered  Samurai,  yellow  Asiatics, 
Black-bearded  Persians,  Indian  fanatics 
Poured  in  hordes  through  the  shattered  chess  game, 
With  lightning  speed  beyond  all  guess  came 
Bearing  down  on  Caissa's  vassals 
Whose  great  mass  shuddered,  gabbled  "The  Castle's 
Round-tower — make  for  the  Tower !"  and  madly 
Turned  to  run.     They  were  frightened  badly  J 

Like  a  leaf  on  a  wave  was  the  messenger  whirled, 
And  again  commotion  swallowed  his  world. 
But  in  one  last  glimpse  he  beheld  the  queues 
Of  the  jewelled  celestials,  like  coiled  lassos, 

[  150  1 


THE  SEVENTH  PAWN 
Spinning  out  and  settling  all  around 
Over  neck  of  knight  and  knave  homebound. 
And  above  the  rout  wound  a  high  weird  cry: 
"Still  I  live,  I  live!     Can  I  never  die?" 

A  dark  veil  dropped.     Rain  began  to  pour. 

Struggling^  wrenched,  he  was  tossed  once  more 

Shoulder-high.     Turning  his  head  half  back 

He  saw  all  the  heavens  bulging  black 

With  thunder.     Asunder  one  jagged  flash 

On  that  instant  ripped  them.     Then,  with  a  crash 

Of  stunning  violence,  down  shot 

A  huge  vast  hand,  like  a  mighty  blot 

On  the  plain.     It  closed,  immense,  completely 

Over  the  Spaniard — just  as  he  sweetly 

Swung  his  scimetar  at  the  messenger's  head ! 

Why,  what  rubbish !    There  was  the  moon  instead 

With  a  thousand  silver  rays  to  shed 

From  that  rich  blue  sky  so  thick  with  stars. 

A  thin  hand  crept  where  the  beard  was  sparse 
And  rubbed  a  thin  cheek.     And  the  messenger  rose 
Reeling. 

Where  was  he?     Do  you  suppose 
That  Adept  had  died  then  ?     But  all  was  dream ! 
Well,  where — by  the  powers  we  all  blaspheme — 
Was  the  Inn  ?    Or  was  there  no  Inn,  forsooth  ! 
There  was  not.     Near  by,  like  the  jagged  tooth 
Of  some  dark  old  crone,  the  black  field  thrust  forth 

[  151  1 


THE  BURGLAR  OF  THE  ZODIAC 
A  milestone.     The  white  road  wound  from  the  north 
And  west. 

And  then  he  heard  a  whicker 
Beyond  it,  and  caught  the  ghostly  flicker 
Of  his  white  mare. 

When  he  came  that  cropper 
Or  slid  down  in  sleep,  with  none  to  stop  her 
She  had  strayed  quite  a  bit. 

But  he  must  ride. 
Or  that  waiting  sloop  would  miss  the  tide! 
With  a  sinking  heart  he  remembered  his  mission. 
Dreams!    At  this  hour,  with  all  perdition 
Loose  in  the  person  of  Bonaparte! 
God,  he  must  certainly  mount  and  start! 
Yet — he   plunged   in   his    pockets — his    book?      Where 

was  .  .    ? 
And  then  he  perceived  it  on  the  grass. 
Picked  it  up,  all  damp  with  the  dew,  and  flipped 
The  fly-leaf  open  in  the  moonlight.     Stripped 
Of  rhetoric,  it  read  no  less 
Than  thus,  as  follows: 

"Studies  in  Chess; 
Containing  Caissa,  a  Scacchic  Poem 
By  Sir  William  Jones." 

(And,  after  that  proem,) 
"Pilidor's  Parties — New  Combinations — 
Don  Pedro  Carrera's  Situations; 
With  Other  Matter  condensed  and  sprightly 
For  Wits  desiring  to  play  Chess  rightly." 

[  153  1 


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